


Devouring Us Both

by Birdbitch



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 29,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're stuck with me. You saved my life, and now I have to save yours."<br/>Or, Bucky grew up on army bases. Steve isn't entirely sure what he's gotten himself into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started thinking of how the first Captain America movie might have been different if they decided to keep something close to the original dynamic between Bucky and Steve--something more like a sidekick/mentor deal, and it wouldn't fly to have a kid sidekick, but I'm attached to a Bucky who grew up as kind of an army brat. So after tweeting at length about it, I made a Tumblr post summarizing my thoughts, and decided, I'm going to try to write a long fic going in this particular direction.
> 
> This is probably going to follow closer along the lines of the comics universe.  
> Bucky's 18 years old and finally legally allowed to enlist. This picks up a little after that.

He was right. If he was going to die now, which he was almost positive he was going to, at least he would be right.

To be fair, this was only partially his fault. He heard someone talking in German, a ham radio transmission and the rumor that there was at least one spy in the camp and that someone was going to be assigned to figure out who it was, and that leak of information was definitely not his fault. That was army guys needing to think more about what they were talking about and where they did that talking. He did decide to find out more himself, though. He was curious and always had been. Part of the Barnes charm. Besides that, if he was the one to figure out who it was—and why—he’d be something like a hero. Maybe he’d get a promotion. Or not; he was supposed to be in bed with everybody else because it was long after lights-out and this was insubordination at best. People could overlook that one small fact, though, right?

It didn’t matter anymore, because he was going to be killed. There were three German spies and God knows how they got into the camp or why this one in particular, and they all had guns and Bucky didn’t know if he could hold his breath any longer. One of them said something that sounded like the German word for “Superman,” but Bucky wasn’t sure and he couldn’t just ask them to repeat what they were saying. For some reason, he got the feeling that they weren’t talking about a guy with a cape.

18 goddamn years old and he wouldn’t even make it out of the camp. What a fucking joke. The least he could do would be make a scene—that way people would hear the gunshots, would know that something was happening, and his death wouldn’t be in vain. It was a foolish thing to think of—but then, the whole “I’m going to find out who the spies everybody’s talking about are” was pretty bad, too.

He didn’t even recognize the voices.

His legs started tensing up and there was no way he could sit still any longer. He didn’t have a gun on him, but he had a knife, and that was something, and besides that, he was fast. Maybe not “outrun a speeding bullet” fast, but fast enough that he might be able to get behind the guys. He wished he hadn’t had to run up and down that hill forty times already that week, because then maybe his legs wouldn’t have felt like Jell-O the second he got into his position. He was ready—or at least as ready as he would ever be. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding against his ribcage, wouldn’t stop trying to launch itself up into his throat or down into his gut, and if those guys had better hearing, they might have found him out by that alone. But he was ready. He said a quick kind of prayer—didn’t really know what else to do except hope that God got him out of there alive, or at the very least made sure he died quickly—and started to move—

But a hand came to his shoulder and kept him still, and another came to cover his mouth and muffle the shout of surprise he had. He had been so busy trying to figure out what to do that he didn’t even realize someone else had crept up into the hiding spot with him, and now he was really done for. Except—not. He was still alive. “They know you’re here,” a voice said against his ear, and when he turned his head, he saw the outline of Steve Rogers’ face. New guy. Bucky was confused—was Rogers another spy? No, he couldn’t be, because then Bucky would be dead already, especially if he could come up behind him so quietly. “They just haven’t figured out where you are. Stay quiet.”

Bucky didn’t know what was going on, but he nodded his head and, satisfied, Rogers took his hand away. Bucky watched him load a gun, and was surprised when it was handed to him. “Where’d you get this?”

“I talk to my superior officers before I’m going to do anything,” Rogers answered, and he reached to his side and revealed another gun. “They know you’re here, and in five seconds, they’re going to know exactly where we are. Get ready to run, and prepared to shoot.” It almost seemed like Rogers had done this before, but Bucky figured, if they made it out of there, they could talk about it later. Better listen to the guy who knows what he’s talking about (and Bucky, for once in his life, was willing to admit that he wasn’t that guy).

The gunshot rang out loud and clear like a bell alerting everybody where Rogers and Bucky were, but it hit its mark—one of the spies went down, shouting and grabbing his shoulder. The others started shooting, and if Rogers hadn’t pushed Bucky, he would have forgotten to move. But, he did. There were a couple more of them than Bucky originally thought.

“Shoot to disable—not to kill!”

Right, right. If they were spies, it would be more useful to interrogate them later. Bucky aimed for thighs. A bullet whizzed by his ear and he had to turn around to make sure Rogers was alright—but their proximity had changed, and the man was already running down to engage the spies. It wouldn’t do well to leave him alone down there, so Bucky followed him, watched him disarm the men, threw a few punches. It was over sooner than he would have thought, and while Rogers was tying up the men, he looked over at Bucky.

“Nice shooting.”

“Thanks.” It would have been the best moment to brag, to let him know how long he grew up on military bases, about his dad, everything—but it didn’t come to his tongue and even if it had, it would have felt wrong to say anything like it. He was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, like a kid sticking their hand into a cookie jar. He wanted to say something, though, felt like there was something to say—but the noise had alerted everybody in the camp to the action and he didn’t have much time. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Rogers shrugged and smiled. “It won’t be worth much if you end up getting caught out of bed. Get out of here, Private.” There was a tiny salute and even though Bucky was sure they were of the same rank, he sent it back and went running back to his bunker. He made it there just as everybody else was filing out to try to get an idea of what was happening, and he joined the ranks soon enough that nobody realized he had been missing in the first place (but then, none of them ever did notice anyways). The commotion didn’t last for very long; the men were herded back into their bunks and watched while each flashlight went dead. No information was shared beyond “an altercation” taking place, but they would all ask around the next morning. Rumors would circulate. It was a routine.

After some time, murmurings in the dark stopped and it seemed like everybody had fallen back to sleep, trying to get a little rest before the day ahead of them. Bucky alone stared upwards, unsure of whether what had happened was even real. Who the hell was Rogers, anyways, giving orders like that? Besides, where’d he learn anything?

What would happen if he ratted Bucky out?

He couldn’t sleep, and the gunshots had left a ringing in his ear. Regardless of anything, he’d seek out Rogers the next day and demand to know everything, since he clearly had more information than Bucky ever did. He’d get to the bottom of this and hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with too many consequences for sneaking out. He tossed and turned a few more times.

Rogers was stuck with him no matter what. He couldn’t just let the guy save his life and not get a shot at saving his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hasn't been kicked out, which is good, but he's not really sure how much of a good thing this is going to turn out to be.

“Would you believe me if I said they wanted to give you a harsher punishment?” It was Corporal Rogers, and Private Barnes gritted his teeth and tried scrubbing the floors harder. He didn’t want to be mad at the guy, but then, he also didn’t want to be scrubbing the floor. They took away his weekend pass and besides, everybody who didn’t know what happened (that was, everybody except the COs and Bucky himself) thought it was the funniest thing ever to happen. And maybe that was Bucky’s fault—he had a big mouth, a lot of the time—but it was embarrassing as hell and while he was on his hands and knees, he didn’t want to see Rogers.

“What, were they going to make me clean the latrine?”

“They wanted to kick you out, but that works too.” Rogers clapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, stand up. You’re with me.”

The obligation to follow orders overpowered Bucky’s disgruntlement. Besides, it meant he could get up and stretch, and his back was killing him.

Rogers looked different in the light when people weren’t shooting at them. The silhouette was the same—strong nose and jaw, thick neck and broad shoulders. He was blond, though, and bigger than Bucky thought he was. His sister probably would have loved the guy. Bucky just felt a little irritated and short. When he smiled, Bucky felt the most irritated of all. Nobody should have been allowed to smile like that, like there was nothing better to do in the world, like there would always be a reason to keep smiling. It wasn’t fair. Bucky frowned.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going on a run to the top of the hill. You should probably get changed.”

Bucky never felt so relieved to get to run. Anything, anything, but continuing to do this. He changed into the workout clothes in record time and followed Rogers. His legs were itching to move and this was going to be exactly what he needed after almost an entire day of being kept inside. He followed Rogers’ lead, tried to remember how to breathe while running so he wouldn’t get too out of breath, and he immediately regretted everything. It was summer, and there was a reason why he didn’t like running in the first place. He must have forgotten while he was cleaning just how much of a pain in the ass going up and down the hill was at even a slow pace.

He had to run as hard as he could to keep up with Rogers, and even when he did, it seemed like he was still behind. Rogers was barely breaking a sweat apart from the heat of the air around them. This was another kind of embarrassing punishment. At least he was (theoretically) getting something out of it.

When they got to the top, they stopped. Bucky had to catch his breath, and when he did, he looked up at Rogers with a furrowed brow and squinted eyes. “What the hell are you?” he asked, and Rogers smiled at him, not offended.

“Just a kid from Brooklyn.”

“You run a lot up there?”

Rogers shrugged. “So, they’ve decided that you’re staying,” he said, and Bucky nodded his head.

“Yeah? No kidding. Would be real nasty to send me home after scrubbing those floors.” He didn’t mention that he had nowhere else to go to, and that was probably for the better, anyways. Didn’t need to bring it up.

“They asked me if I’d like to be partnered up with you.”

“That’s not how the army works.”

“You’re right.” Rogers looks at him. “It’s not. But I told them that I wanted to ask you what you thought.”

“And they listened to a corporal?”

There was that smile again. Bucky could finally stand up straight, and he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Yeah, they listened to a corporal. So, what do you say?”

“Well.” Bucky didn’t have to think long. It would give him a chance to figure out what the deal was with this guy, who he was and where he came from—and Bucky wasn’t buying that whole ‘Brooklyn’ line. Besides, they guy kept him from getting kicked out, and he saved his life. He thought back to the few nights before, to his decision that he would have to make up for it by saving Rogers’ life at some point, and he scratched the back of his head. “You know what? Sure. I’m your goddamn partner.” He offered his hand out, and Rogers took it. He had a firm grip, a nice shake, and his hand was warm but not moist, unlike Bucky’s own. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers. Nice to have you aboard.” The smile was still there, plastered to Rogers’—no, not Rogers, Steve, if they were supposed to be partners—face like it belonged there. It was nothing like the expression Bucky tried to make out that night. “I’ll race you down to the bottom.”

“It’s not a race if you know you’re going to win,” Bucky said. He paused and felt himself smile back at Steve. “I’ll be waiting for you down at the bottom. Try to keep up.” Steve laughs, but is caught off guard long enough for Bucky to get a five second head start downhill. It’s not enough, because Steve ends up running by him, and it feels like he’s just been passed by a train judging by the wind that goes along with him. It occurred to Bucky that Steve either didn’t know how good he is, or he did and was showing off. Neither option bothered him as much as it should have, especially when Steve was waiting at the bottom of the hill with a full canteen of water waiting for him.

They walked back to the main body of the camp at a pace that didn’t make Bucky feel like dying. “Things are going to be a little different for you from now on,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded his head, tongue thick in his mouth. The canteen had helped, but he was thirsty all over again. “You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to.” Bucky didn’t like the way that sounded—the way Steve said it like being partners with him was a death wish. He shrugged anyways.

“The other guys don’t like me so much. Maybe it’ll be better working with you.” He bit his bottom lip and stared outward. “What are we going to be doing that’s going to be so much worse than anyone else?”

Steve didn’t answer right away. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?” he asked, but he should his head. “We’re going to start training together soon. You should grab dinner and go to bed early.” Bucky watched him walk away, and he felt both closer and even further away from answers the further Steve got.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training comes to an abrupt end.

Steve got Bucky on his back for the fifth time in a row and Bucky wished he could strangle the guy—but he’d just wiggle his way out of that hold and pin him down again. Bucky didn’t get it; back when he was fifteen, he would sometimes get in on the combat training and he used to get into fights all the time—most of which he would win—so he couldn’t figure out what was happening. Steve was no help, either, because he’d just help Bucky back up with a pat on the upper arm and a, “Good shot, now let’s try it again.” They had been doing this for almost a week now, and Bucky had yet to get the drop on Steve. He was beginning to think he never would unless Steve let him.

“Maybe we should break to go for a run or do some agility training,” he suggested, and Steve shook his head.

“I have a few orders to listen to, and they want you to take me down.”

“Have they seen the two of us side by side? Because I don’t think they have.” It was frustration that made him push Steve’s hand away when it came up to his shoulder. “Jesus Christ.”

“You don’t have to be bigger than someone in order to take them down. Think about weaknesses.” Steve, patient as usual, said.

“Do you even have weaknesses?”

“Probably. I’m human.”

“Could have fooled me.” But he got into his position again and crouched. “I’m not going to take any dirty shots,” he said, and Steve nodded his head.

“I know. You wouldn’t.”

And it started again. Steve wasn’t as tired as Bucky, or as sore from being pinned down, or anything, and Bucky didn’t know what the hell kind of advantage he might have over Steve. Except—except maybe his height. His height. He had been going about everything all wrong, reaching for Steve’s shoulders and throwing punches towards his face. It wasn’t going to work that way. It couldn’t. But Steve’s legs? He hadn’t even considered them before, and Steve probably didn’t think he would. He had to use his size to his advantage. He couldn’t explain the exact moves he moved, but he dove and suddenly, Steve was upended. Bucky took his chance and pinned him, and while he was pretty certain that Steve could get away if he wanted to, Steve stayed still and waited for Bucky to catch his breath before saying anything.

“You get what I’m saying, then?”

Bucky nodded his head. “Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying.” They didn’t move, and Bucky almost didn’t want to for reasons that had little to do with the soreness in his limbs or the tiredness that had come to inhabit his entire body since he had started training with Steve. “I’m not sure I’d be able to hold a guy like you down for a long time,” he said.

“You just need to be able to get them out of the way. Get them down. You know how to throw a punch. You just need to work on your aim.” Steve swallowed hard.

They sat like that for a few more minutes until a voice called out, “Rogers! A word!” Bucky scrambled up and Steve rolled out from underneath him, was up on his feet in less than a second and over to the Major in less time than it took for Bucky to get up and start rubbing out the pain in his shoulders. He thought that maybe he should stand at attention and made a half-hearted attempt to do so, but it didn’t matter because Steve was the Major’s focus. A few words were said, quick and quiet, Steve at attention while listening and Bucky straining to hear what was going on. When they were done, the Major saluted Steve and Steve saluted back and waited until the Major was out of eyesight before letting his arms rest.

He made his way back to Bucky and rubbed a hand over his face like he had some awful news, and it wasn’t something that made Bucky too enthusiastic about what he was going to hear. Steve waited for a second, like he was trying to think of exactly how he wanted to phrase everything, before nodding his head and folding his arms over his chest. “We’re going to have to call an end to the training, Buck.”

“I don’t get it.” He didn’t—he had been trying, hard, and he thought he had been getting better, had been doing everything he needed to be doing right. He was about to get angry at Steve, about to raise his voice and demand answers, when Steve unfolded his arms and put both hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“We’re getting shipped overseas. I guess they need us over there right now.” Steve’s face looked long. “Listen, I would understand if you didn’t want to go. If you didn’t think you were ready, or if you changed your mind—”

“I already said I’m your partner. I’m not backing out.” Bucky swallows. “I made a commitment, and I—I’d be going over at some point anyways. Besides. You need me with you. You need someone to save your ass.” He grinned at Steve, and even though Steve didn’t smile back immediately, it came to his face after a few seconds.

“Alright.”

They spent a while walking around the camp, and Bucky finally turned to Steve and asked, “Do you want to go for a run?” It wasn’t something he actually wanted to do, but it occurred to him that he never got the chance to ask about the night they met, and besides that, it would be the last opportunity to do so without listening ears if they got to the top of the hill by themselves. Steve nodded, not knowing what Bucky’s ulterior motives were, and they set off on the trail. It was a long hike, and Bucky almost ended up jogging the last stretch of it, but he had to keep up with Steve—Steve, who still didn’t start breathing heavy even at the steepest points of the run—so he didn’t stop running.

“Are you going to tell me about those spies, or am I just supposed to forget about it?” he asked when he could breathe (and he had gotten better, over the past few weeks, at running, but he still had a little bit of trouble). “Because I was there that night, and I thought I heard something about a Superman, but I’m pretty sure we don’t have anyone running around wearing a red and blue costume.”

Steve laughed. “Are you absolutely sure about that?” he asked, and Bucky wanted to push him over.

“Yeah, I’m pretty damn positive there aren’t any superheroes here. So what happened?”

He got the feeling Steve didn’t want to tell him, or wasn’t supposed to tell him, but he wasn’t going to give up until he got some kind of answer. “It’s top secret information,” Steve said, and Bucky groaned.

“Well, yeah. If it wasn’t, why would they have sent spies to get it?”

“I mean the matter of the spies themselves. I’m not supposed to tell anybody about it.” Steve looked at Bucky and Bucky stared back. He gave up and sighed. “Alright. They were looking for something. And someone had heard that they were there and news gets around fast, so I went to the major and asked to do something.” He was lying—and it was hard to imagine that Steve Rogers would lie about anything sometimes, but Bucky knew he did it because everybody does it. “So, I’m told what to do, and you ended up being there even though you weren’t supposed to be there.”

“What were they looking for?”

“Superman.”

“Steve, I swear to God,” it came out with a warning tone, but Steve shook his head. “Really. You’re telling me that German spies came into this specific camp and were looking for Superman. Is that like a codename for something? Like a missile? A weapon?”

“You could call it a weapon.” Steve shook his head and stared down at the ground. “Listen, Bucky. I promise you that I’ll tell you everything when I can, but right now—I can’t. I would if I could but it’s. Did your parents tell you everything the second you asked for it?”

Bucky frowned. His parents were both dead now, and he couldn’t remember his mother that much, but he sure as hell remembered his dad telling him that he’d tell him when he was older. “I’m not a kid, Steve. I think I could handle it.”

“It’s not like that,” Steve answered. “I wish I could tell you and I promise you, I will as soon as I can. It’s not a matter of you being old enough or not. Hell, you’re old enough to shoot people; I think you’re old enough for this. But it’s. If my mother was still alive, I couldn’t even tell her. It’s just one of those things, Buck. I’m sorry. Can you please stop asking about it?”

“I’ll figure it out one way or another,” Bucky said.

Steve sighed. “I know you will. Just try not to get into trouble, got it? Now let’s get back to the camp. You need to pack.” He started before Bucky, and it was just about getting dark enough that Bucky was a little worried about staying out alone, so he ran after Steve like his life depended on it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contemplation before leaving.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Bucky.

Steve regretted it the entire walk back to his bunk, apart from the other soldiers. He wanted to, wished he could, and now thought maybe he should have regardless of the orders he had to stay quiet about the entire thing. Bucky was the kind of guy who tried finding out who the spies were not because he was told to, but because he wanted to, and in that aspect, Steve had seen a level of camaraderie he wasn’t expecting. Bucky hadn’t even told anybody that he was there that night, apart from complaining about it to Steve. Of all the people he could leak it to, Bucky would have been the best option—the only option, really. He wouldn’t tell anybody.

Besides, like he had said, he would find out sooner or later. Steve just hoped he didn’t get in trouble. Maybe he would drop it—but that seemed unlikely. He was persistent.

That was something Steve was coming to find really endearing about him.

It didn’t matter at this point anyways; they would ship out in the morning, and after that, they wouldn’t have a chance to talk about it. Everybody would be on high-alert, and nothing would be able to be said beyond instructions to be carried out and the usual complaints about food and cold weather. There were ears everywhere—even, apparently, the camp. The truth about everything would come out soon, at the right time, but until then…

It still didn’t feel right keeping Bucky in the dark. The kid was supposed to be his partner. Steve balled his hands into fists and then unclenched them. Bucky’s insistence that the Germans couldn’t have been looking for a kind of Superman came back to him, and he had to crack a smile. Maybe not Superman, but…He laughed and shook his head. He had to pack. “Superman” was much better way to put it than a weapon.

——

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat an hour before he was supposed to be awake and ready to leave. It was a nightmare, he supposed; a warped memory of his father and what had happened a few years ago kept coming up when he least expected it, when he thought he was over the trauma, and every single time felt just as terrible as the last. He could remember his father’s voice, could remember that it was supposed to be something routine, that nobody could find a reason for him not to watch, and—he swallowed and ran a palm over his face. Accidents happened. There were paratroopers in training who would jump out of their planes and wind up dead on the landing pitch. Accidents happened. Sometimes guns went off at the wrong time. That didn’t make it any easier.

He thought about writing a letter to his sister, just to let her know he would be leaving, but when he started to make his way towards his stuff to grab a pencil and paper, he thought better of it. They weren’t close, not like they might have been under different circumstances, and besides, maybe it was better if nobody knew where he was going. They hadn’t kept in contact throughout any of the training, and they barely spoke beforehand, anyways. He wasn’t even sure he knew her address anymore—maybe she had moved, maybe she had gotten married, maybe, maybe a million things. It mattered, but not enough for him to find out. He wondered if his father would be disappointed in him for not making more of an effort to stay in touch with her, but he shook the thought out of his head.

By the time he could have thought of something to write, he would have had to leave, anyways. Better to just get dressed and get out and be ready for when Steve came to get him. He tried stretching out a little bit, bending down and grabbing the sides of his feet, reaching upwards as far as he could. There weren’t many times where he worried about whether or not he was making a mistake, but for the first time since dropping out of high school, he wondered if maybe he should stick around longer. This wasn’t necessarily what he had wanted, but then, if he stuck around and ended up in a hole somewhere with one of the other guys here, what’s to say he wouldn’t feel that same regret? At least if he was with Steve, he knew the guy had his back. Maybe going would be a mistake, but it would be one hell of a lot less of one than staying here. The decision had already been made. He was stuck.

No, not stuck. He got dressed, feeling like he was moving through molasses the entire time. If he actually was stuck, then he wouldn’t have had any choice in the matter. Steve wouldn’t have asked whether or not he wanted to come along, and Steve wouldn’t have kept giving him ways out. Being stuck meant not having other things to do—and he was still pretty determined to find out what the deal was with the spies, and what the “Superman” was and what Steve’s deal was. There was no way he was just fit.

He didn’t have much time to think of it, though; by the time he finished making sure his uniform would pass an inspection (although, there were times where his uniform would be perfect and he’d still be made an example of what not to do), Steve was waiting outside the barrack for him, and by the look on his face, Bucky figured he better pay attention.

But then, Steve smiled at him and he had to smile back, and he knew, despite his worry, that this was the right choice. Steve Rogers had his back. He was going to be fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is given his first mission assignment.

“There’s this guy going around. They call him Captain America.” It was one of the days that Steve was gone and Bucky was alone at the camp with other soldiers. He hadn’t planned on eating in the mess with everybody else, but his stomach complained and he figured he should probably get food while he could. He had been sitting apart from everybody else when a guy everybody called Toro came to sit next to him.

“Yeah?” It almost made Bucky want to laugh. Toro was his age, just as young and inexperienced, and they had talked a few times before.

“Yeah.” He dug into the mush of food in his bowl and frowned when he tasted it. “You’d think they’d give us real food sometime,” he said.

Bucky laughed. “Yeah. What the hell is this, anyways?” He wanted to act involved, and pretended to listen to what Toro was saying, but all he could think about was this Captain America guy. He wanted to ask more questions, wanted to find out more information, but he knew what it felt like when someone showed too much of an interest in anything. Captain America sounded like a superhero—

Which meant that Steve hadn’t been entirely lying when he said the German spies had been looking for Superman. Bucky paused with his spoon about five inches away from his mouth as the sheer absurdity of it hit him, and Toro looked at him with confusion and a raised eyebrow. “You alright?” he asked, and Bucky looked at the food and then up, coming back to himself before laughing and looking at Toro.

“Great. Everything’s great.” It was and it wasn’t. It reminded him that he had things to bother Steve about, and it made him miss the fact that Steve wasn’t there even more than he already did. Which was another thing in and of itself—he missed Steve’s specific companionship (though right now he was wondering why he hadn’t tried becoming friends with Toro sooner, given that he was the only other person in the camp who seemed like he could stand Bucky). He could ask himself why a million times and each time come up with a different dodging answer. It didn’t matter why he missed Steve, he reasoned. He missed him. They were friends—at least, he was pretty certain they were.

Thoughts of Captain America preoccupied Bucky for the rest of the day; even with the existence of him, it didn’t explain why the Germans had chosen their camp to snoop around in. Or maybe it did—maybe Captain America had been under everybody’s nose the entire time. Bucky dismissed the notion—if that was the case, he would have found out about it. He got into everybody else’s business anyways, before he started training exclusively with Steve. He would have figured it out and been on that guy immediately. Secrets bothered him more than anything else (which is why he was so irritated that Steve wouldn’t tell him everything), and he had a feeling that if he were to go into investigative reporting, he would excel at it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t keep his own secrets—he just didn’t like people keeping secrets from him.

While most of the other men started getting ready to head out of the camp, Bucky was grounded there. Toro waved goodbye to him and he waved back. The worst part of everything was how lonely it got there.

“Private Barnes? A moment?” The voice startled him, and when he turned around, he was face to face with Agent Carter.

She had been in the camp since he and Steve arrived, and stood as a kind of peculiarity at first by the virtue that she existed. They hadn’t spoken very much, but then, they didn’t have reason to. Most of the conversations she had were with the COs and, even more so, Steve. Bucky didn’t know what her specialty was; he had an idea that it was something to do with radio transmissions and information gathering, but beyond that, he was clueless. Steve trusted her, which was good enough for Bucky. What little interaction they had had was pleasant, at the very least.

“Agent Carter.” He saluted her and she laughed.

“No need for that, Private. We kind of operate outside of rank, don’t we?” She had a kind voice, but there was an underlying seriousness, and Bucky let his hand fall to his side. “Let’s go for a walk.” It wasn’t a request, and Bucky had a feeling she wasn’t the kind of person who would be happy if told ‘no’. So he nodded his head, and she indicated with hers the direction in which they were to go. “I’m not sure if you are aware, but I’m in charge of the camp’s special operations division.”

He hadn’t known, but he nodded his head regardless. It made sense, if she was the one Steve saw before and after going off every time. “Right,” he said, and she pursed her lips.

“Right. So you may be wondering why you’re here, and why I’m talking with you now.” They stopped in front of a tent, and she pulled back the flap. “After you, Private.” A strategy planning room sat in front of him, with a radio at one end of the tent and an enormous table in the middle, covered with a map. “We have something we need to accomplish, and we’d like you to take the task.”

“It isn’t like I can really say no, is it?” Bucky asked.

“I’m afraid not. The mission is of vital importance, and it needs to be carried out tonight. We’ve only just received the intel.”

He swallowed and looked down at the table. He could read a map just fine, but the symbols on this one were obscure and he didn’t understand what anything meant. To him, it was a mess of xs and os and lines and arrows. He looked at her with a furrow in his brow. “Am I going to be doing this alone?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“No. You will not be alone. Let’s go over this.” She indicated that he should take a seat, and when he did, she came to stand behind him. In order to illustrate what she was talking about, she leaned over his shoulder and made swooping motions across the map. “Initially, we’ll be sending you out and you will not have backup. It should be alright—we have reason to believe that the enemy will not move until a little after twenty-two hundred. It is essential that you get to this back wall before then, and it is there that you’ll meet up with the other members of your team.”

“What am I looking for?”

“A man.” It wasn’t what he was expecting, but then, he wasn’t even sure what he had been expecting to begin with. Agent Carter moved from behind him, and he sat still until she returned with a manila file folder. “You should open this and review it as best you can. I’ll give you two minutes.”

She walked out from behind him and towards the front of the tent, and he was surprised when she stepped outside—until he remembered that he had to look at this file. When he opened it, there was a picture of a man who looked…not like a target. He tried to memorize the face, tried to memorize all of the information on the page—he was a scientist, involved with weaponry that could potentially kill thousands or people, and he was important. Agent Carter came back in after exactly two minutes outside, and she took the file folder back from him.

“Do you know who you’re after?” she asked, and he nodded his head. The face was stuck at the forefront of his brain.

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“Think of it as a recovery mission. We need him alive. That’s the most important objective.” She smiled at him, but her mouth was too tense, and she seemed worried.

This was a test. Someone—Steve, probably—had faith in him, enough to get this far, but until now, the most he had done had been playing look out for Steve while they listened for information that he never got to hear. This was a test to determine whether or not Steve’s faith—and therefore, the faith of the rest of the special operations unit, presumably—was rightly placed. He had to succeed. If not—well. He didn’t know what would happen, but he assumed it wouldn’t be anything good.

“Will Steve—Corporal Rogers. Will Corporal Rogers be there?”

She didn’t answer, and he assumed that the response was no. Right. This was his test, and if Steve was there, who was to say Steve wouldn’t be the one getting him out of it? He understood, even if he didn’t like it. “Be ready and outfitted by fifteen hundred, Private. We’ll be by your tent to bring you to the drop-off point then.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's first mission doesn't go exactly as planned.

The intel ended up being flawed; Bucky got to the drop-off point—miles away from camp—just as the enemy was starting to move. It wasn’t Agent Carter’s fault, but it didn’t matter because Bucky had to work with what he was given. He could move quietly, sometimes, and he skulked around behind bushes and boulders, trying desperately not to be seen. The plan had been to attack from the front, but he started to wonder if that would really work now.

Bucky’s target had at least twenty armed guards. He was important, important enough that they knew he would be attacked, and important enough to care when it happened. Bucky wasn’t even sure the rest of the team had gotten to the rendezvous in time, but he kept moving, watching his feet and looking out for sticks whenever he wasn’t paying immediate attention to the twenty guards. This entire thing reeked of hot shit, and Bucky was knee deep in it. He had his gun drawn and kept in a position that it could be easily fired from.

Almost miraculously, he made it to the meet-up point without being detected—or at least, just about there. It was across from his position behind the bushes, and he wasn’t going to be able to run across without the enemy catching him. Besides, if he ran over, he would alert them to everybody else—who he now saw with clear eyes. Five other men were crouched together, all behind a seeming giant in the front who must have been the leader. His face was obscured by a pair of goggles with tinted glass, and Bucky wondered if it impaired his vision as much as it hid his features. It must have been intentional; it was dark enough that Bucky couldn’t make out many specifics, but the guy wasn’t wearing a standard uniform—or really a uniform at all, at least, not one that Bucky could recognize.

Captain America. It had to be. He spoke in hurried hand motions, and Bucky tried to remember the ones that Agent Carter told him to use on the way over. The enemy was there. He couldn’t run over. His own hands were much sloppier than Captain America’s, but it got the point across well enough and the man nodded back at him before turning his head back to talk to the men behind him. Bucky watched a plan being formulated without the ability to do anything or add any input. Except—he remembered what Agent Carter had said: they were his backup. Captain America watched him, waiting for him to give an order to move out, and this was, technically his mission. They were his team, even if he wasn’t the Captain.

The pressure made him feel sick to his stomach.

The enemy got closer and closer and while he couldn’t see any expression on Captain America’s face, he could tell that the other men were starting to get nervous. There wasn’t any more time to waste, to dawdle until he steeled his nerves up to requirement. He gave the order to move forward, and when he aimed his gun at the enemy closest to him, Captain America mirrored the movement. The countdown—3—2—1—silently carried on a one-mississippi beat, and he and Captain America shot at the same time, and two men went down between them. The noise came off in such a way that it confused the guards around the scientist, and the ambush was happening perhaps not according to plan, but well enough that that didn’t matter.

They couldn’t hide forever, and Captain America made the decision to move out into the open first—and Bucky was alright with that. The men behind him were quick shooters, and even though the guards were firing back, they weren’t fast enough. The entire operation went quickly, though at one point, while some of the men were pre-occupied with hand-to-hand combat, the target decided to make a break for it.

Bucky couldn’t blame him, not really. He had a feeling that most of the guards weren’t going to make it, and he felt—he felt bad, because he didn’t actually want to kill anybody, but…he stopped thinking about it and he ran after the target. He couldn’t shoot him; Agent Carter had made it clear that he was supposed to be caught alive, and even a while aimed shot could cause severe health complications and possibly kill someone. So he ran, and he missed, for a moment, going up and down the hill with Steve. It didn’t matter. The target couldn’t run very fast, and he couldn’t run for very long, either. Bucky had gotten used to being behind, so it was strange to catch up to someone again.

“Oh, no you don’t!” He dove, and when he would think about it later, he’d realize how incredibly corny he had sounded, but with the commotion of everything else happening, at least he could take comfort in the fact that nobody except the target heard him. He pinned the target, got him on the ground and was able to keep him there. The target, afraid of Bucky, didn’t struggle to get away, and Bucky held him until all of his guards had been taken out.

When all was cleared, Agent Carter arrived to collect the target. When she saw Captain America, she laughed. “Good to see you here, Captain. I didn’t know they were going to send you in.”

Captain America smiled back at her, and even with most of his face hidden, Bucky could tell that he was an attractive man. It wasn’t the first time he had noticed anyone like that, but it had been a while since he had been taken off guard by a jawline. "Finished up where I had to be, heard about this and figured I might as well tag along." Bucky could tell that he was lowering his voice intentionally, but he wasn’t sure whether it was to keep his identity hidden or if he was trying to seem even manlier in front of Agent Carter (and he hoped, for some reason, that that wasn’t the case, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t). The spoke quietly between each other, smiles and hushed voices, and Bucky frowned.

“I suppose you’ll be going, though,” Agent Carter said, voice back to a volume more suited for everybody’s ears, and Captain America nodded his head.

“You know how it is. Duty calls.”

“I do know, given the fact that I’m the one sending you off.” But she was smiling, and Captain America was smiling back.

The man turned to Bucky. “Good work, Private,” he said, and like that, he was gone. Bucky had the uneasy feeling that he had seen that smile before, but he couldn’t place it—and the fact that he didn’t know immediately where it was from started to eat at him even deeper.

He didn’t have the time to think about it, though, because Agent Carter had started to make her way over to Bucky. The target had been taken care of by this point, handcuffed and secured by their own men in the back of one of the jeeps that had arrived. “Private Barnes,” she said.

“Agent Carter.”

“Congratulations. It seems that your first mission was a success.” She beamed at him, and he had to smile back. He passed the test. He’d get to stay. “And you got to work with our finest—I promise, it wasn’t my intention to set you up on a mission with him, but I suppose it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, I think it did.”

“Well. I’m sure it’s been a very tiring evening for you. The jeep will take you back to the camp. Rest up. We’ll have another mission ready for you by zero eight hundred tomorrow morning.” She smiled at him one last time before getting into the jeep with the target, and Bucky felt hesitantly optimistic about the entire situation.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt at catching up goes sour.

When Bucky caught Steve drawing—though perhaps caught wasn’t the right word, because it wasn’t as though Steve was trying to hide it or anything—he had the realization that he didn’t know all that much about Steve at all.

“If you’re busy, I can come back,” he said, and Steve shrugged and smiled.

“It’s fine. You can come in.” He set the sketchpad to the side and looked up at Bucky. “What’s up? Everything alright?”

Well, no, it wasn’t—for partners, they hadn’t really worked very often together since being placed overseas, even if Bucky was doing missions now (and succeeding at doing them). He’d seen Captain America more times than he had Steve out in the field, and there was something about that that made him uncomfortable—even if Captain America was, well, Captain America. (Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to anybody about his feelings there; his throat dried up and his heart would go into his stomach every single time the guy smiled at him, and Bucky didn’t want to even try to interpret those reactions.) Besides that, whenever Bucky was back from a mission, Steve had been sent out on another, and they didn’t get a chance to even talk most of the time.

“I guess you weren’t lying about the whole Superman thing, huh?” he asked, finally coming up with something to say. Steve shrugged again.

“I try very hard to avoid lying about anything if it’s not absolutely necessary,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded his head. Of course Steve hated lying.

“Yeah? And where’d you learn that?”

Steve stood up and stretched his arms forward, yawning well he did so. When he was done, he sent a crooked smile Bucky’s way. “My mother,” he said, and if Steve were anybody else, he might have winked, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t, and Bucky still felt a strange feeling in his gut in response.

“She didn’t teach you to cover your face when you yawn? In some social circles, that’s considered rude, Rogers.”

“So’s barging into a guy’s tent without announcing yourself, Buck, but I’m not going to hold you to it or anything.” Steve rubbed his jaw and frowned. “I think I have to shave.” He shaved almost every day, when he had the time to do so. Bucky had watched him a few times, would tell him that he missed a spot even when he hadn’t just to get Steve to laugh. Bucky…didn’t shave, because he didn’t have to. His father never had much facial hair, either, so he had the feeling that he’d never really need to invest in a good razor.

He frowned and watched Steve. “You don’t really need to, do you? Nobody else does.” And the majority of the soldiers didn’t. They didn’t have the time, and when they did have the time, they didn’t have the energy. But besides that, Steve usually didn’t talk when he was shaving, and that had been Bucky’s purpose of coming into his tent.

“It feels better when I do it,” Steve answered, and he already was getting set up to do so. “Are you alright, Bucky?”

He shrugged and took a seat on Steve’s cot. “I’m fine,” he said. “How long have you been drawing?” He looked over towards the sketchpad, and Steve was…good. No, probably better than just good, and Bucky wanted to take a better look. “Is this Agent Carter?”

“I told her I’d draw her,” Steve answered, and when he turned around, he had shaving cream on his face.

“If I asked you to draw me, would you?”

“Sure.”

While Steve shaved, Bucky kept his eyes focused on the drawing instead of on the long line of Steve’s back. He wondered what their relationship was—if Agent Carter and Steve had ever gone out together on R & R, if they were…well. It didn’t do anything to keep thinking about it besides make his shoulders feel strangely heavy. “I went to art school,” Steve said finally as he started to wash off the shaving cream and the stubble he had shaved. “For about a year. I couldn’t really afford it, but it was something I wanted to do. My mother said I should do it, so I did.”

“You could end up in a museum,” Bucky said. Steve shrugged and sat back down next to him, and the bed felt about five times smaller than it did when Steve had been standing.

“Nah. Probably not. Besides, I wanted to go into illustration.” Steve let out this strange laugh that didn’t have any humor behind it. “I never really got that far.”

“You still could. After the war. You said your mother said you should do it, so why don’t you? There’s a G.I. bill that can pay for school.” Steve didn’t answer, and Bucky decided to drop it. It was a sore subject. He got it. “Did I tell you that I worked with him?” he asked, and Steve looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Worked with who?”

“Captain America.” Steve laughed, and Bucky frowned at him. “What the hell, Steve? I did. I worked with him. He’s great. You were busy on some mission and at least he came around to help!”

Steve stopped laughing and looked at Bucky. “You could have done it without him,” he said. He paused for a moment before clearing his voice. “Peggy—Agent Carter said that you were great.”

Bucky thought about it for a moment before grinning. “Are you kidding? Of course I was great.” He bit his lip and smiled. “Feels kind of nice to have someone like Agent Carter saying so, though. And Peggy?” Steve shrugged. “You’re on a first name basis with her?”

“We talk a lot.” Oh. Bucky didn’t know why he felt jealous, all of a sudden, but he did, and it hurt more than he thought it should have. Of course Steve and Agent Carter would have talked a lot; Steve was sent out on more missions than Bucky, and Agent Carter was the one assigning those missions. It made sense. And it made sense, that they would have spent time together, doing briefings and debriefings, and maybe a friendship had been struck up, like how Bucky had hoped (and since when did he find himself hoping?) would happen between himself and Steve. It wasn’t like Steve was an unattractive guy (no, unfortunately, Bucky had realized by now just how attractive Steve was) and it wasn’t like Agent Carter was unattractive, either. It made sense.

It just hurt more than it should have. Bucky stood up and it felt like he had heartburn. “I think I’m going to go find Toro,” he said, and Steve looked at him, frowning.

“Bucky, are you really alright?”

“I’m fine, Steve!” And it came out meaner and shriller than Bucky would have ever admitted, but it was there in the air between them anyways and after that, he couldn’t really stick around. He made an about face turn and left the tent.

It almost disappointed him that Steve didn’t follow him out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reconciliation.

And then camp moved.

There had been territorial gains by the Allies which required everything to move further inland, away from the relative closeness of Britain and the sea. With the movement of camp came a reformation in the setup—people had died and people had left and everything was significantly closer.

“Unfortunately, Private Barnes, you do not have a choice in the matter.” Agent Carter was the one to lead Bucky to his new tent, and when he got there, Steve had already set himself up. Things had been rocky between them, and more often than not, when they were together (rare enough as that was) the moments were spent in silence. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share a tent with Steve, but he also didn’t want to share a tent with Steve.

(There was also an issue of dreams featuring the man appearing with an alarming frequency for Bucky, but he didn’t want to bring that up and open that can of worms. At least, not with Agent Carter, and definitely not with Steve himself standing right there.)

“Get settled in. We’ll be back for you in a few hours.” She wasn’t as precise as usual, and Bucky didn’t bother asking why. Instead, he dragged his bag behind him into the tent and dropped down on his cot.

The silence that characterized their most recent meetings continued, and it killed Bucky. He had the feeling it was his fault, and maybe if he opened his own mouth first, Steve would get the idea that he wasn’t actually that angry at him, but at the same time, he wanted Steve to say something, anything, as an indication that he forgave him for storming out, for getting angry over what had to have seemed to Steve to be nothing. Steve sat across from him, reading with a furrowed brow and hunched shoulders, and Bucky needed to say something. He hated feeling like he was being ignored; and even if that wasn’t what Steve was doing, it still felt like it. He swallowed.

“Hey,” he said, and Steve didn’t look up at him.

“Hey,” he answered, eyes still trained down on the page in front of him. But, his eyes had stopped moving. He wasn’t reading. They both waited, unsure of who would speak first, and Bucky cleared his throat.

“What are you reading?”

Steve looked up at him, and even if the smile that came to his face wasn’t brilliant, it still felt a hell of a lot warmer than that cold shoulder he had been getting for the past few weeks. “Something about your buddy Captain America,” he said.

Bucky felt his cheeks grow hot and he looked away, mouth drawn tight and face red. “He’s not my buddy,” he said. Even if that irritated him, he couldn’t really get mad at Steve. He was teasing him, and that felt…good. Better than good, even, and Bucky almost wanted to smile about it.

“Right, right. Not your buddy.” When he looked back at Steve, it seemed like Steve was laughing to himself, laughing about Bucky’s indignation. “Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Did I do anything? I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

And no, Bucky supposed he didn’t. The way in which Steve said those words made Bucky feel even worse about the entire thing. “No. I don’t know why I got mad,” he said, finally, and it wasn’t the truth and Bucky hated lying, but what else was he supposed to say? That he had been jealous and wasn’t sure exactly who he had been jealous of? “I guess I just took things out on you. I’m sorry, Steve.”

“It’s alright as long as we’re alright.”

He smiled at Steve. “I hope we’re alright,” he said, and he meant it. Steve smiled back at him.

“We’re good.”

“Good.” Things were starting to feel uncomfortable in a different way, then, and Bucky let out a long whistle and looked around the tent. “Kind of roomy in here, isn’t it?”

“Kind of.”

Bucky watched him for a moment before standing up and putting his hands on his hips and pacing around. It was a big tent, but then, Steve was a big guy. This was probably more a necessity. If Steve didn’t take up so much room, there would probably be enough space for another guy to get crammed in. As it stood, that wasn’t the case. “You know, I’ve been thinking, and something still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

Steve looked at him and quirked an eyebrow up. “Really.”

“Shut up, Steve. I think all the time.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Even if Captain America was the Superman that those German spies were looking for, it still doesn’t make sense for them to have been at our camp.” He looked at Steve and frowned. “It’s strange and I can’t figure it out.”

“Maybe Captain America was at the camp,” Steve suggested, and Bucky frowned even harder at him. “It’s not that far out of the realm of possibility.”

“Yeah, right.” Bucky rolled his eyes and sat down next to Steve. “What kind of thing are you reading about him?” He made a grab for the papers Steve was holding, but Steve pulled them away and put them out of Bucky’s reach.

“Do you always go through other people’s things, or is it just when Captain America’s involved?” he asked, and Bucky looked up at him with an absolute scowl. “It’s top secret and I’m not allowed to share it. Even if you ask nicely. Besides, if I let you read it, we’ll both get court marshaled and then where would either of us be?”

Bucky stared hard at him and Steve stared back. “So it’s important.”

“No, it’s newspaper clippings because I want to read all about his exploits and don’t want you knowing. Yeah, it’s important, Bucky. I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t.” He rolled his eyes at Steve and Steve frowned at him. “I’m serious. And before you ask, yeah, it does have something to do with the spies, and again, before you ask, no, you can’t weasel it out of me on a run.” Steve stood up and Bucky realized just how far over Steve he had been leaning because the second Steve was gone, he fell forward on the bed where Steve had been sitting.

“C’mon, Steve. I go into live or death situations with the guy and I don’t even know his last name.” Steve’s jaw was set though, and Bucky wasn’t going to get any information out of him. “Fine. I get it. You won’t tell me.” He would find out, at some point, but he wasn’t going to jeopardize Steve in order to do so. He stood up and stretched his arms above his head. “So I’ve got a few hours before Agent Carter’ll be back to send me away on some dangerous mission. Do you want to do anything?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve just sat and talked,” Steve said. “Not about Captain America, or anything. I need to relax. Do you mind if we just do that?”

No, actually, he didn’t mind at all. It had been one of the things Bucky had missed the most in the weeks they hadn’t been speaking to each other. He smiled at Steve and sat back down on his own cot. “Go right ahead.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare leads to heavy conversation.

It had been years since the last time he woke himself up crying. It had been years, and of course now that it happens again, he’s sharing a tent with someone. He felt Steve’s hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, but he couldn’t help but want to hide his face and pretend nothing had happened at all.

“Buck, it’s okay.” Except, it wasn’t okay at all. It had been a nightmare, loud and red and clinging right in front of his eyes even now that he was awake. Steve stood there with a hand on his shoulder until he was ready to turn around and face him. “Are you alright?” Bucky shook his head ‘no’, because he wasn’t, not really, hadn’t been in a while, and sometimes it would come back and consume him like the waves of an ocean going over his head. It took a second, but Steve made some kind of decision in his head before talking again. “C’mon. It’s cold. You can sleep in my bed.”

“It’s not really a bed, Steve,” he tried, but it didn’t matter because he was following Steve’s steady hand over to the cot. It was too small for Steve alone, which didn’t bode particularly well for the both of them, but on their sides, it almost worked. “You’re falling off,” Bucky said, voice soft, and Steve made a shrugging motion before pulling the blanket up over both of them.

“Hardly.” 

For the first time in ages, Bucky felt safe, and at the same time the feeling occurred to him, he wished he could ignore it. “Steve,” he said, and there was a grunt in acknowledgement. “Do you have any siblings?”

Steve hummed, low and quiet. “No,” he said. There was something in his voice, like he didn’t want to explain everything, and Bucky didn’t want him to.

“I have a sister,” he said, and he tried to make a small laughing sound. It didn’t work, and wound up caught around his throat. “I have a sister, but I don’t—I haven’t seen her in years. I don’t even know what she looks like anymore. I feel awful about it.” Steve didn’t say anything, but there was a soothing hand on Bucky’s back moving back and forth. “I’m sorry—I woke you up, didn’t I?”

“I just got back,” Steve answered. “It’s alright. I was up.” Bucky had forgotten; Steve had been gone on a mission earlier that day. He just thought he would have been back sooner. He didn’t even hear Steve come back in. “Do you need to talk?”

Bucky shrugged and pressed in closer to Steve. He had been right—it was colder, getting colder every single second longer, and Steve radiated heat like nothing else in the world. “I don’t know if I want to,” he said. “There—there was an accident, a few years ago.” He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice from shaking. “I haven’t really talked to anybody about it. I mean, there was a head doc, and I was supposed to talk to him twice a week every week for about a year, but a few months in he figured it was fine, and I didn’t want to go anymore, either, so I dropped it, but—I don’t know, Steve.” He stared ahead at the skin of Steve’s neck. “My dad—he. There was an accident and it was an accident but—I can’t stop thinking about it sometimes. I was there and I can’t get it out and I can’t even talk to my goddamn sister.”

“Bucky,” Steve said, and there was something else, hanging on at the back of his throat, but it never came out. Bucky closed his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Jesus Christ, Bucky, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” And he knew Steve was, that the sympathy was real and—

“You’ve lost someone.” And he could have been wrong, but Steve stiffened and then nodded. If Bucky were any closer, he thought he would have been able to feel Steve’s heart pounding in his chest.

“Yeah. I uh. Didn’t have my dad around when I was growing up, and my mom—she. It was pneumonia, and she. Didn’t make it.” He paused and his hand stilled on Bucky’s back. “It’s not the same, but. Yeah. I’ve lost someone.” He held his breath for a moment. “You know,” he said, finally letting it out, and Bucky tilted his head upwards to get a better look at Steve’s face. “I don’t think I’ve told anyone that.”

“Is it okay, telling me?”

Steve pulled away just enough to be able to look at Bucky properly. “Are you kidding? You’re my partner. Of course it’s okay.” When he came back in close, Bucky could have sworn that he was holding on tighter, like he was giving him a hug. It felt nice, felt warm and safe and like a home Bucky wasn’t entirely sure he ever had.

(He was getting in too deep with his feelings and he knew it by now, had figured out exactly who he was jealous of, but the longer he kept it to himself, then maybe the longer he could stick around Steve and not have to worry so much about anything other than a few words slipping.)

“Try to get some sleep, Bucky. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow. If you need me, I’m right here.” And Steve, who had been away on that mission, who had only just gotten back to deal with Bucky’s emotional needs, was probably even more exhausted than Bucky was, but here, he still offered a promise of protection. It made Bucky want to cry for an entirely different reason than before, and he held it in. When he closed his eyes, again, it didn’t take all that long to fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't pay attention like he should.

The night before this particular mission, Bucky dreamed that Steve was Captain America. For him, it only really made sense in the idea that he was attracted to both of them—something he came to admit to himself after a long time spent thinking while he should have been paying more attention to Agent Carter’s mission de-briefings. It had been festering under his skin for a while and finally, finally, he came to accept it—if not do nothing about it. He had no intention of ever mentioning it if he could avoid doing so; he couldn’t risk anything, not now. Whenever he and Steve were at the tent at the same time, they would end up sleeping in the same cot, and as far as he knew, Steve was doing it out of a kind of brotherly feeling. It wouldn’t be worth messing any of that up, and he couldn’t risk losing the safest place he had ever known.

But he had had a dream that put Steve in the Captain America costume—sans the goggles, which were, it appeared, permanently affixed to Captain America’s face—and it…did things to Bucky that he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with now or ever. He liked the idea, but it seemed somewhat implausible. Steve would fill out the uniform, but for however perfect he may have been, he couldn’t have been Superman. Maybe they just had similar enough smiles. Bucky didn’t care why; he just wished he could stop thinking about it.

Captain America ended up on the mission with him, though, and every single time he glanced over, he couldn’t help but think it was Steve. So, he tried not to look—tried instead focusing on avoiding enemy bullets (and that was another thing, the way they weren’t Germans, but the enemy, and Bucky wondered if he was reading into that too much). It took enough effort—they were well trained, probably better suited to sniper positions based solely on their ability to aim than anything else. It wasn’t the first time he had had problems keeping up, but it was the first time he was entirely impressed. If they were on the same side, he wondered if maybe they might have been assigned to the same missions. Perhaps.

A bullet nicked him in the thigh and even though it really only grazed him, it hurt—it hurt more than he expected it to and there was more blood than he expected there to be. It shocked him enough to make him take a knee, startled out of the concentration he applied to the mission. Captain America happened to look over just as it happened and ran to cover him. “It’s not a deep wound,” he said. “I should be fine. I’ll be fine.”

“We’re getting you out of here.”

It was the worst thing for somebody to say to Bucky, and he was almost mad about it; he was at least angered enough to get up and shoot the guy whose bullet got him. “I’m fine!” The objective was almost completed, anyways, and he wasn’t about to stop because he got shot.

“Bucky, I’m sorry.” The voice sounded so familiar, and Bucky tried to reason as to whether it was because he had worked with Captain America so many times by now or if because a lot of people had very similar voices. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t just been grazed. “I’m taking you out.” He couldn’t fight when Captain America lifted him up and wouldn’t fight even if he could have. There was a lot more blood now, and he wasn’t sure if they even had a medic with them who could patch him up. The other men—the Howling Commandos, he supposed they had to have been, because they were with Captain America and had been since the beginning—could take care of the rest of the enemy’s troops without them and secure the objective. He just felt terrible about it—he had to fight, had to keep fighting, because that was the entire reason he had been brought over in the first place.

“Cap, if I can’t do the mission—” his head felt lost in space and he looked at his leg where Captain America was trying to wrap it up tight so no more blood was lost. “If I can’t do the mission, what’s the point of me even being here?” he asked, and Captain America stopped for a moment to look up at his face. There was something he looked like he wanted to say, but the problem was, except for giving low, loud orders, Captain America didn’t speak to Bucky that often. Maybe he had something he could have given as a minor comfort, or maybe he wanted to let Bucky know that it didn’t matter—that even if the mission wasn’t completed, that Bucky wouldn’t be sent home, wouldn’t be sent back stateside to find a place to make his own like he had made his place here.

“You’re okay, Bucky,” he said, finally, and the bandage was wrapped tight around Bucky’s thigh. A little bit of red had seeped through, and Buck looked at Captain America, feeling terribly lost and scared. “You’ll be okay. They’re not going to send you home.”

Bucky wondered if Captain America had ever failed a mission in his life, if he had ever done anything wrong or hadn’t been able to complete something someone asked him to do. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice soft. A bullet bounced off of Captain America’s shield, and Bucky winced at the sound of it.

“I promise, Private. You’re going to be okay.” His voice felt warmer, then, than it had ever felt before, and Bucky was compelled to believe him. There were bullets still ricocheting everywhere, though less now, and Captain America smiled at Bucky. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Keep pressure on the wound.” With that, Captain America stood up. He left his shield with Bucky as a way to protect him from the bullets and carried on to finish the mission. Before Bucky passed out, he understood that the objective had, at the very least, been accomplished, and Captain America promised that he would be alright.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something off and Bucky can't place his finger on it.

Nobody said anything about him getting hurt, and he didn’t stop getting assigned new missions. Smaller things—a lot more listening, a lot less shooting—and it was likely because Agent Carter knew at least something about the bullet wound. Captain America would have told her, and she would have seen Bucky passed out. He didn’t even remember making it back to camp when he woke up in his and Steve’s tent. (A part of him wondered if Captain America had carried him back or if they had gotten a stretcher, and he wondered if he would be more embarrassed knowing or—he didn’t want to think about the alternative.)

In any case, Captain America had been right—Bucky was okay, and he would be staying.

The problem was that he hadn’t seen Steve in about a week.

He didn’t dare ask Agent Carter about it—every single mission Steve ever went on was top secret, and besides that, Bucky remembered the way Steve had reacted when he tried to grab the file about Captain America. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, and he didn’t want to risk repeating it when Steve did eventually come back. If this had been a few months ago, he might have tried finding out, but things were different now. He didn’t want to risk encroaching on Steve’s privacy for the sake of finding out information, and even if he didn’t care about that, he didn’t want Steve to look badly upon him. Steve’s opinion had been mattering more and more lately, which was frustrating because he wasn’t even around to give it.

And then, one morning when he got up, Steve was back.

“What the hell?” he asked, and Steve turned his head to look at him.

“What?”

Bucky got up and crossed over to Steve’s side of the tent. “You’ve been gone for almost two weeks! What am I supposed to do—not worry when my partner’s missing?”

Steve looked at him before letting out a sigh and putting his sketchbook to the side. “You know I’m not allowed to talk about it,” he said, and Bucky frowned. “I’m glad you were worried about me.”

“Of course I was worried. I’m still worried. You look like hell.”

“I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep,” Steve said. Compared to a lot of other guys, he probably would have seemed fine, but there was enough darkness under his eyes and a few more lines on his face that, if you had spent enough time with him, you would have realized that he was making an understatement. Bucky sat down on the cot as best he could and planted his feet on the ground so he wouldn’t have to worry about sliding off the side.

“Instead of sleeping, you’re drawing.”

“I’m due out again in about two hours. Better to take my mind off everything else by doing something like this than risk any bad dreams.”

Bucky ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “You get bad dreams?”

“I think everybody does, Buck.” Steve said it with a smile, but he was tired, and it didn’t reach all the way to the corners of his eyes. “Especially in a place like this.”

He hadn’t really been thinking; sometimes, Bucky had a tendency not to consider other people, and it was a flaw he was entirely willing to embrace, but he hadn’t even realized how Steve might’ve been handling everything. Maybe it was because Steve had been a strong backbone for him that he didn’t think Steve might need someone to lean on at the same time. He felt like a jerk for it, and he felt even worse knowing that Steve wouldn’t even blame him. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Steve reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.” But he would, and he did. Steve closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “When was the last time you checked in with Agent Carter?” he asked, and at first Bucky was upset—was Steve trying to get him to leave? And if so, why couldn’t he just say so outright? But then he realized—he was due to talk to Agent Carter at least fifteen minutes ago. He groaned and stood up, rushing to tuck his shirt into his pants and get himself into at least some kind of semblance of decency.

“Shit, shit. Thanks, Steve. Don’t know what I’d do without you around.” Steve smiled at him, and it stretched a little farther up his face this time.

“Any time. Hope your leg’s feeling better.”

Bucky paused and felt his brow furrow. “What?”

Steve blinked at him and his shoulders straightened out. “Your leg,” he repeated, deliberately. “You were shot, right?”

He nodded and his eyes narrowed. “Yeah, but how would you know that? You haven’t been here since before it happened.”

“Captain America told me.” It came out plain and solid, hanging in the air between them. “Get going; Agent Carter’s not someone who likes to be kept waiting.” Bucky started to move again, but he kept his eye on Steve until he got to the edge of the tent. “Stay safe out there, alright, Bucky?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

The entire thing created a knot in the center of Bucky’s chest that he couldn’t read. Maybe Steve had heard it from Captain America; maybe Captain America knew that Bucky had been Steve’s partner first and foremost, and maybe he knew that Steve would want to know about something like him getting injured. It would have made sense. Captain America was a considerate guy, it seemed like. But even that explanation, hastily thought out in Bucky’s head on his way over to Agent Carter’s tent, didn’t excuse the thing that had crept into Bucky’s gut. Something wasn’t right and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t have much time to think about it further, though; Agent Carter had a mission for him, and he had to spend his energy concentrating on that instead.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something goes wrong.

“You told Steve that I got shot?” He and Captain America were caught in a fox hole together. The mission itself had been completed—it was an assignment to disable enemy transmissions that required a couple of good shots and between the two of them, it had taken less than fifteen minutes—but until Agent Carter sent someone to pick them back up, they were stuck hiding. At the very least, they were safe. There had only been a couple of men and it seemed like they were more concerned with figuring out how to explain what had happened than going after Captain America. Even so, Bucky kept his voice low.

Captain America’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. “I thought he would want to know,” he said, and Bucky shrugged.

“I guess. Thanks, though.” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Captain America—it was just that it didn’t make sense. He curled and uncurled his fingers, making fists and letting them go in an attempt to warm up the digits. It wasn’t helping, and if he had to shoot again, he wasn’t sure they would be limber enough to make the shot quickly. The winter here was cold and bitter and Bucky kept fearing that he would get frostbite. He never did—the gloves he had been given were thick and insulated—but the worry fettered at the back of his mind all the time.

“Let me see your hands.” He looked up at Captain America before offering his hands forward. When he took off the gloves, Bucky hissed and started to pull back, but Captain America held onto them. His hands, by contrast, were warm like bread that had just come out of the oven, and the longer he held Bucky’s, the less and less solid Bucky felt.

“I think I’m good now,” Bucky said after a few minutes, and his face felt hot against the cold air. He pulled his hands back and took his gloves, too. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

It had been almost an hour, and it became clear that they couldn’t just wait in the fox hole for that much longer. Something might have happened with the pick-up, and sitting in what was still enemy territory was too dangerous. Captain America shifted first and peeked up above to see whether or not it was safe to move.

“We have to get going,” he said. “I’ll cover you.”

Bucky nodded, and they stood up together. Captain America held his shield up behind Bucky’s head, and they made a run for it. For the first fifty yards, everything was fine—and then the shooting started. Captain America shouted, “Get down!” and didn’t wait for Bucky to listen, pushing him down to his knees and holding the shield to keep him covered. (Under different circumstances, Bucky might have been concerned that he looked like a turtle. Under these? He couldn’t think beyond needing to get his gun out.)

Maybe things happened the way they did because Captain America was trying to protect him instead of looking out for himself. The shield did its job and Bucky was untouched by the bullets, but he heard a shout from Captain America mid-shot and turned around to see what was the matter.

“Cap, are you—” His shoulder. The blood had already started seeping through the costume and Captain America had dropped his shield, needing the arm instead to grab onto the wound. “Oh, my god!”

“I’m fine!”

The words having been spit back at Bucky made him almost recoil. Oh, he thought, this is what it means to be afraid. This was the concern that kept Captain America there when he himself had been shot, and this was why Bucky could not leave, even when Captain America, in a rough voice, told him to go on ahead without him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky stood up and shot at a dark figure in the bushes. He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen the enemy soldier before, or why, knowing he had a duty to help Captain America, everything seemed even sharper. The shooter fell, and the firing stopped. “I’m getting you the hell out of here. You took care of me, so now I have to take care of you.” Perhaps not ‘had to’, because he wanted to, needed to for a reason besides having been helped before. It didn’t matter. “What do I do?”

“I’ve been shot before,” Captain America said. “I’m telling you, I’ll be fine. Just—” he paused and swallowed. “There should be bandages in the first aid kit on my belt. The bullet’s still in there and you have to take it out.” He looked around and frowned. “We can’t stay here.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to move—”

“I feel better already.”

Bucky frowned—Captain America was still bleeding. “Don’t lie to me. If you can’t move, then I’m staying here with you.” He dug through the first aid kit and pulled out a roll of bandages. “Are there going to be enough?”

“It’ll be fine.” He made a humming noise through his nose. “Not that I don’t like the idea of you digging through my shoulder with your fingers, but it might be easier if you use the two metal tools that are in there.”

“They haven’t been sterilized.”

“I’m not going to get sick, Buck.”

He paused. “You know,” he said, frowning, “You sounded a lot like my friend Steve just then. How often have you guys worked together?” Captain America didn’t acknowledge that, instead staying silent while waiting for Bucky to dig out the bullet.

It was a messy job, but it came out, and Captain America smiled at Bucky when he was done. “Good job. Now just get the bandage on me.” It took what felt like ages to get it secured on Captain America’s shoulder, but it was done, finally, and Bucky was able to lean back and wipe his forehead.

“Do you think they’re going to start shooting at us again?”

“If we stay here for much longer, they’re bound to figure out that the sniper didn’t get us. We should get moving.” Captain America stood up and Bucky followed suit.

“How much does it hurt?” he asked, and Captain America lolled his head about noncommittally.

“Not that much. I heal fast. I told you, I’d be fine.” It was a bluff, though, because when he moved his shoulder to grab his shield, he winced hard enough that Bucky saw it. “Alright. Maybe it hurts a little.”

“Should we wait for them to come get us?”

“With our luck, they’ll meet us halfway back. We can’t wait here.” He was right, even if Bucky didn’t like the idea of moving while Captain America was hurt. But they were vulnerable enough as it was, and he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

The entire situation scared the hell out of him, and it didn’t help when he knew he was being kept in the dark. “Are you really alright?” he asked, and Captain America smiled at him.

“Wouldn’t be without you.”

He had been right about the pickup—they met just about halfway back to their camp, and everybody felt sorry as hell. There had been a mix-up with the pickup time and place, and as a result, Captain America had been shot. “We’ll bring you right to the medical tent. Jesus, Cap, sorry about all of this.”

“Nothing to really worry about,” he said, and Bucky frowned. There absolutely was something to worry about—what if Captain America had been even more seriously wounded? He was flesh and blood and an actual person, not something that could be hand-waved away as a damaged product of the machinery of war. He wasn’t a robot—he bled. He could have died. The fear of that happening—that possibility—grabbed Bucky and held him, and even if Captain America wasn’t angry about the mistake, he was.

But nobody asked his opinion on it, and he was dropped off at Agent Carter’s tent to be de-briefed and to explain exactly what had gone wrong.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finds out.

He didn’t expect Steve to be there when he got back to the tent, but there he was.

Steve stood in front of his cot still in the Captain America costume, and Bucky’s heart felt like it was coming out of his chest, climbing up his throat to escape through his mouth, because something—something told him he should have figured this out, that he was a fool not to realize. He let the flap of the tent fall behind him and took in the image of Steve in the Captain America costume and he didn’t know why the world felt like it was falling apart the longer he looked, but it did, and he could not stop. Steve turned his head up at Bucky and looked back at him with sad eyes and a tired mouth.

“I’m having trouble getting it off,” he said plainly, and Bucky nodded his head.

“You’re Captain America,” he said, and Steve took in a long breath that he held until Bucky spoke again. “You’re Captain America,” he repeated.

“I am.” Bucky walked over to Steve and helped him take the costume off. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’m sorry.”

Bucky swallowed hard and kept his eyes trained on the bandage over Steve’s bullet wound. “How much does it hurt?” he asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Well, no—it wasn’t that he didn’t have anything else, it was that he couldn’t verbalize every single feeling that was ripping up from the base of his skull to his chest and stomach and back again, and he couldn’t explain how—hurt? Upset? Angry? No, maybe not angry—he felt. It made sense. It made perfect sense. It explained everything—why Steve had been there the first night they met (he was that Superman, and he was supposed to be there to stop the information leak), how Steve never seemed to get tired on those runs up and down and up and down the hill, how Steve knew about the gunshot—and at the same time, Bucky still felt bereft of information.

“Not as much as it could,” Steve answered, and Bucky frowned. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I wanted to tell you—I should have told you—”

“And what? Gotten your ass chewed out by Agent Carter? Been locked away for betraying United States military secrets?” He knew how it was—he didn’t talk about missions with Steve because even voicing them with someone outside of the loop would have been treason. He got it. And he still felt betrayed, even though he knew Steve didn’t have a choice. “Am I even allowed to know, now? Is this even okay?”

Steve turned to look at Bucky. “I don’t care. I should have told you. You’re my partner. And if they have a problem with you knowing—” He winced and reached up to grab his shoulder. “I don’t care,” he repeated. “You should have been told from the start.”

“Are you sure that bullet wound’s going to be okay?”

“I told you. I’ve been shot before.” He swallowed and stared hard at Bucky. “Take the bandage off if you don’t believe me.”

“That’s okay.” Bucky looked away and sniffled a little. “Jesus fucking Christ. I should have figured it out. How did I not figure it out? Am I that—”

“Dense?” Steve smiled at him, like he wanted to laugh, but Bucky wasn’t in the mood to joke around, and he sat down on his own cot. “Bucky, don’t—you just. Weren’t thinking in the right place. It happens to everybody.”

“Maybe I didn’t want you to be the same person,” Bucky said, and he sighed. “I should have figured it out. I’m a real loser.”

“Could’ve fooled me. I thought that guy who kept me from bleeding out was pretty cool.” He looked up, and Steve was still smiling. “I mean, I don’t think a loser’s the kind of person who would save Captain America.” He looked fine, now, like there had never been the danger of him dying, and he stood in a dirtied white tank top and the bottom half of his uniform like he had never felt anything warmer than the winter air that kept slipping inside the tent. Bucky felt weak and terrible and useless and he looked away from Steve. “Oh, Bucky. C’mon, please? Are you mad at me?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. A little. I’m more mad at myself. I can’t believe I didn’t even realize it was you, and you saved my damn life at least twice now. What else are you keeping from me? Are you actually an alien like Superman?”

Steve sat down on Bucky’s cot next to him and put his good arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “I promise, I’m not an alien. But—you know. I didn’t—I didn’t always look like this. I wasn’t—” he struggled for a moment, and then he got up again. “I have a picture with me, of me and my mom, before she got sick, and I—I think you’ll get the idea, if I show it to you.” Bucky watched him as he dug through his stuff, and he didn’t know if he believed Steve. When he came back though, and sat down next to Bucky and put the picture under his nose, he understood.

He had been scrawny, with thin shoulders and thin hips and a thinner face. The features were the same—it was definitely Steve, could in no way not be Steve, and even the smile was Steve’s. He had his arm around his mother’s shoulders and Bucky stared down at the picture before looking back up at Steve, who had a sad, small kind of smile on his face. “What happened?” he asked, voice soft, and Steve shrugged his good shoulder.

“I tried enlisting a few times and kept getting rejected. A lot of health problems. I had asthma. I couldn’t run even if I wanted to. But I had to do something, you know? I couldn’t just—it wasn’t right for me to just sit at home, because I needed to offer something. I wanted to fight for my country and I wanted to do good. So I tried again and again and again. And then a scientist named Doctor Erskine talked to me and he and Peggy—Agent Carter—made the final decision, and I was in and I was selected to be a super soldier.” Steve let out a sigh and looked away from the photograph. “It worked, I guess. I’m here.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

Steve looked at him. “No,” he said, with a level of certainty. “I’ve saved lives, and I’ve done important work. And besides.” He beamed at Bucky. “I got to meet you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. If I hadn’t been selected, and if I hadn’t said yes, I never would have gotten to meet you.”

Bucky tried to laugh, and it came out caught in his throat. “You could have died,” he said, and he looked at Steve and looked at the bandage. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve’s arm was around his shoulders again and he was being brought into a hug, held tight against Steve’s side, and he wanted to cry. Captain America and Steve were the same person and he didn’t think in the right direction well enough to figure it out, and he just wanted to know that Steve would be okay, and the future was now, suddenly, uncertain, because he was, without a doubt, not supposed to know that they were one in the same. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Steve said, and Bucky bit his lower lip and wrapped his arms around Steve so he could get a better hug.

“I know,” he said, and he did, and he believed Steve, even if he was angry.

“You said you’d find out somehow,” Steve said softly into the top of Bucky’s head, and Bucky let out a loud laugh at that, self-deprecating and mean.

“Yeah,” he said, “I guess I did.” He just didn’t think it would happen like this.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he goes back out, he gets a drawing.

Things didn’t change very much between Bucky and Steve—not drastically, anyways, and not in ways that Bucky thought anybody else might have noticed. He still felt embarrassed that he hadn’t realized it was Steve, and he wondered if he would ever get over it (he was pretty sure he wouldn’t).

“I suppose there’s no fixing it,” Agent Carter said the next day, shoulders heavy and mouth drawn tight. “You know, and you must realize that you are not permitted to tell anybody.” Bucky nodded his head enthusiastically. “As it stands, we are going to have to send you out alone today. While Captain Rogers may disagree, his shoulder wound still has not healed enough that he should be going immediately back out into the field. You have worked missions alone before, and we expect the best, as usual. The briefing will be in roughly half an hour. Report back here then. For now, you are dismissed.”

Bucky made his way back to the tent and found Steve sitting on his cot with his sketchpad in his lap. “Captain’s a helluva way up the payroll from corporal,” he said, and Steve looked up and laughed.

“It’s also a hell of a lot more distinguished, too.” Steve looked back down at his drawing. “I’m supposed to be incognito, remember?”

“So I guess I shouldn’t go around calling you Captain Rogers, then, huh?”

“Not like you would anyways,” Steve answered. He was right; the combination of the title and his last name didn’t fit quite right together, and besides that, Bucky preferred just calling him Steve. As far as he could tell, Steve liked it better that way, too. “When are you supposed to go back out?”

Bucky sat down. “I have half an hour before the briefing,” he said, and Steve nodded like he understood. “I’ll be alright, without you, you know? I’m not a bad shot.”  
“I’m not worried about that.” He smiled up at Bucky again, and Bucky wondered if he was making a joke or if he genuinely meant it. Maybe it was both.

He pushed it out of his mind anyways. “What are you drawing?”

Steve stopped and put his pencil to the side. “Well, you asked me a while back to draw a picture of you, so I figured, I’ve got nothing better to do because they don’t think my shoulder’s fine yet, I might as well get around to it.” He turned the paper towards Bucky, and Bucky wanted to frown. The man looking back at him was too handsome, looked too good to be him, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t that he thought he was ugly—but he didn’t think he could ever be that attractive. He looked back up at Steve, who noticed that something was wrong, and then Steve frowned in response. “What?” he asked, turning it back towards himself. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m not that good looking, Steve.”

“Not that—Bucky, please.” There was something stretched across his face accompanying the frown. “Do you think I wouldn’t draw you like this if it wasn’t the truth?”

He shrugged his shoulders and looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want to hurt my feelings. You really think I’m that good looking?”

“You could use a bath, probably, but Jesus Christ.” Steve let out a sigh and dragged a hand over his face. “Have you ever even looked in a mirror?”

“I don’t have to shave like you do, so not recently, no.”

Steve laughed, but his brow furrowed and he ended up with a sad looking smile on his face. “I think you should look the next time you get a chance,” he said. Bucky leaned over to look at the drawing again, and he raised his eyebrows.

“What’s this costume?” Steve’s cheeks turned a little pink and he made an attempt to look anywhere but at Bucky. He mumbled something under his breath and Bucky shoved his arm gently. “No, really.”

“I guess that, I mean, I wear a costume, and if you’re my partner, then—”

“Are you saying that I’m like Robin?”

“You’re not like Robin at all. It was silly.” Steve’s face had turned red at this point, and he stood up. “It was silly. It doesn’t matter.” He looked at Bucky and his shoulders fell. “I think you have to get going to that briefing,” he said, and Bucky frowned.

He stood up and stared at Steve. “You’re not going to give me the drawing?” he asked, and Steve stared at him wide raised eyebrows and big eyes.

“I didn’t know you wanted it.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you to draw it if I didn’t want it. Will it be okay to fold it in my pocket?” Steve nodded his head and ripped the page out of the sketchpad before handing it Bucky. He watched Bucky stare at it before he folded it and tucked it into one of his uniform’s breast pockets. It had made Bucky happy that Steve drew it at all. “I’ll see you later, Steve,” he said, his voice feeling far away from him. Steve nodded.

“Stay safe, would you?”

“Like safety’s my middle name.” He smiled at Steve and Steve smiled back. The drawing weighed against Bucky’s chest like it was a heavy metal pendant, pressing back and pulling him deeper and deeper. If Steve couldn’t be with him, at least he would have something, he supposed. He wondered if it actually did show him the way Steve saw him—but then, Steve saw the best in everybody. It didn’t have to mean he was anything really special. It still felt nice, and it gave a weird warmth to him in the winter’s chill.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts before sleeping.

He tried being quiet when he got back, because it seemed like Steve was asleep and Bucky didn’t want to wake him up. The mission had gone mostly fine—not having Steve there didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be able to do it—but it had taken hours just to steal a file folder and then run back when nobody was looking, and he was tired. One of the guys on his team had been shot and the slug had gone right through his helmet. So, he tried being quiet, but it didn’t matter. Steve turned over and looked at him, noticed a shakiness in his hands, and sat up.

“How was it?”

Bucky looked at him and shrugged before looking about his feet and trying to decide if he should just keep his boots on or not. “I don’t know. We lost someone, but we got the files, so. I guess someone would say that it’s a win.” He scratched his eyebrow and sighed, feeling lost. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel too good, that’s for sure.” Steve nodded his head, and he would know; he had been in more dangerous places, had seen more people—from either side of the conflict—die. He didn’t say anything though, and waited for Bucky to finally make the decision to keep his boots on. “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said, and Steve shrugged.

“Like I can sleep with you out there alone, anyways. Are you alright?”

“Physically or emotionally?”

“Which ever you’d rather tell me about.”

He sighed and sat down on his cot, hands folded in his lap and eyes downcast. “I don’t know, Steve. I didn’t get hurt. But I just…It’s really, really hard.” He reached up and scratched his nose and looked across at Steve.

“I can’t say it gets easier,” he answered, and Bucky nodded his head.

“How’s your shoulder?” Bucky asked, and Steve smiled.

“I’m fine.” He lifted off his shirt to show that the bandage was gone and all that was left was a faint looking scab. “Physical stuff doesn’t slow me down too much anymore, not if it’s taken care of immediately. Thanks for that.” He put his shirt back on and stood up, made his way over to Bucky. “I’m not going to say that it’s alright because it doesn’t feel like it is, but you did what you could. I’m glad you’re back.” He crouched down and put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and looked at him with big blue eyes and a slight half-smile on his face.

Bucky wished that he could kiss him. “I’m glad, too,” he said softly, and Steve’s smile got just that much wider and he stood back up.

“Try to get some rest. I’m here if you need me.” He watched Steve sit back down on his own cot, watched him swing his legs up and roll onto his side, wide back concealing everything. Bucky had it real bad now, and he knew it, and there was nothing that could be done about it. He decided to lay as still as possible in his own bed, blanket pulled up to his chin and arms firm along his sides. By now, it had been a while since he shared a bed with Steve, and he was starting to think that it was probably a good thing they kept to their own cots.

Even if Steve could tell that Bucky wasn’t sleeping, he didn’t say anything. After a while, he rolled onto his back and his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady pattern, and while watching, Bucky knew that he had fallen asleep himself. His thoughts went back to the drawing still in his breast pocket, and he closed his eyes. If he were to move a certain way, he would have been able to hear the paper in there, would have been able to feel it, clumsy and irregularly shaped in his pocket, but he remained still.

There were other concerns, and he and so many other things to worry about—but it felt easier to try distracting himself with something like this. He wondered if Steve and Agent Carter were in a relationship—they had known each other longest out of anybody in the outfit, he supposed, and it would make sense. It would always have made sense. And if they were? Well. He rolled onto his side and brought his hand up to his chest. It wasn’t like he had any room getting jealous. The last time he had gotten jealous, he ended up not speaking to Steve for too long, and it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat again. At least when he didn’t know that they were the same person, Bucky could act like it was okay if Agent Carter had either Captain America or Steve, because then—at least then, there might be some chance—

A snowball’s chance in hell, maybe. He scoffed at himself and heard Steve rouse, slightly, before he determined it was nothing and went back to sleep. He didn’t have half a chance either way and he knew it, but it was still nice to think about, sometimes. Nicer than pretending that the cold air didn’t bother him so he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up next to Steve with a hard-on, nicer than wanting to kiss his best friend and knowing that he couldn’t really get away with it. Nicer than sitting in the dark and replaying trauma over and over and over until the dawn struck and he didn’t have the time to himself to think about any of it, anyways.

What he needed, he decided at the end of all his thinking, was that he needed to take a bath. He turned to his side and drew his knees up to his chest. A bath would take care of everything. Alternatively, he could find Toro again—because the company had come back to camp recently, and he missed him—and they could get drunk. It would be better than this, at least. He cast one more look over shoulder at Steve, who looked like he could sleep for ages but who would probably jump up at the slightest noise. He didn’t even know how long Steve usually slept; there were times when he wouldn’t sleep at all, would wait at the end of his cot with a pipe hanging from his mouth and his eyes focused on the flap of the tent, and when he did sleep, he always got up before Bucky and was back shaving by the time Bucky opened his eyes.

(Maybe it went back to when Steve had told him that sleeping turned out to be more trouble than it was worth most of the time, and Bucky thought about how if Steve had been there for his nightmares, he probably had an obligation to be there for Steve’s.)

Sure enough though, when he woke up in the morning, Steve was gone, cot made with perfect corners and everything straightened out.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can't keep up with Steve when drinking.

It seemed like out of the blue, Agent Carter handed everybody R & R. It extended even to Steve, who got back right after the announcement with dirt and mud caked all over him.

Bucky found himself in a bar with Toro, catching up as well as they could given the circumstances. “I can’t believe you know Captain America,” Toro said, slinging back a drink, and Bucky shrugged.

“He’s okay.”

“Okay? Bucky. Buck. Listen. I got to work with him once and it was like.” He made a hand movement, and it was clear that he was drunk. Bucky himself was working his way up to that point and was on his third mixed drink. “I’m so jealous. He’s so cool.”

Bucky laughed and he cast a look across the bar at Steve, who was talking with Agent Carter. A big smile lit up on Steve’s face and Bucky finished his drink. “He’s alright,” he answered, and he turned back to the server. “Another?” Toro watched him with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. “What?”

“There’s no way that Captain America is just ‘alright’. What’s the deal, anyhow?” He reached over and patted Bucky’s shoulder.

“It’s nothing. He’s alright. He’s. He’s really nice.” Everything had started to hit him now, hard, clouding up his brain and making his mouth feel loose. “Real nice. I like him. A lot. He’s a nice guy.” He took another drink and let his eyes stare over Toro’s shoulder. Steve had started dancing with Agent Carter, and it—well. He didn’t want to be mad, and it was just much better to turn away and keep drinking than to stare and feel bad about something he couldn’t change. Toro laughed, and he didn’t know if he had made a joke or if there was something else, and he didn’t care. “I don’t know.”

Toro shrugged and tossed back his drink. “I think he’s pretty cool. I like him. Kind of looks like a movie star, don’t he?”

“You can’t even see most of his face.”

“Yeah, but you get a feeling, looking at him. I wonder if he’s actually an actor, and if we’ve seen him in movies, but we just don’t know it because he’s got those huge damn goggles and the helmet. What do you think?”

“I think it’s bullshit.” He smiled at Toro, and they stared at each other before laughing. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Steve and Agent Carter part, and he threw his arm up to wave. “Hey, Steve! C’mere!” Steve acknowledged him, said something briefly to Agent Carter, and made his way over to the bar. “Have you had anything to drink yet?”

Steve smiled at him. “No,” he said, “not yet.”

Bucky, arms loose and mouth looser, gave him a sloppy grin. “Well, then have a drink with us.” So Steve took a seat next to Bucky, and he looked over at Toro. “Steve, this is—”

“Private Raymond, right?” Steve asked, and Toro nodded his head.

“You got it, Corporal, but my friends call me Toro.” They shook hands in front of Bucky. Toro grinned at Bucky before shoving his shoulder. “I’ve got pretty girls calling my name. See you later, Buck!”

“Try not to puke all over their shoes. They don’t like that.” Toro winked and was off to flirt with the girls at the other side of the bar, and Bucky and Steve were alone. “What do you want to drink?”

“Gin and tonic.” Bucky rolled his eyes, but watched while Steve was served and then while he drank the entire tumbler. “I’m not sure this will be very fun for you. I don’t get drunk very easily,” he said, and Bucky shook his head.

“Let’s give it a shot.”

Bucky kept up with everything Steve ordered at first, but he was at a disadvantage anyways, and had already started feeling drunk before Steve showed any signs of slowing down. He tried, but by the tenth drink, Steve looked over at him and made him stop. “It’s not going to be good for anybody if you have alcohol poisoning,” he said, and there was a furrow in his brow and a warning tone in his voice. Bucky wanted to complain, but couldn’t find the words, and when Steve’s arm looped around his waist and brought his arm up around his shoulders, he felt any argument he might have had leave him.

He waved to Toro on his way out and leaned closer to Steve. “How the hell do you not get drunk?” he asked, the words slurring. Steve shrugged.

“Probably same reason I don’t get sick.”

“I—I think I’m going to be sick,” he said, and Steve—Steve, with superhuman reflexes—couldn’t react in time to prevent the vomit from splashing off the street and onto the tips of their shoes. “Oh, shit. Shit. I’m sorry, Steve. Shit. I should clean that—”

“I’ll take care of it. Let’s just keep moving.”

“Steve, I’m sorry.” He looked up at him and wiped his nose with the hand that wasn’t held over Steve’s shoulders. “I didn’t think. I’m. Holy shit. Steve, you know something?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

He laughed, giggled, and hid his face. “I think I love you a lot. You’re so good. God. I’m sorry.” He couldn’t look at Steve and his chest felt heavy and he wondered if he was about to vomit again. “Don’t hold it against me, Steve. I really do like you a lot. I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for, you dolt?” Steve’s voice was kind, and he led Bucky into the barracks with a gentle hand.

“I’m so stupid. I’m sorry. I couldn’t even. Man, I love you. This is terrible. I’m going to be sick again.” But he wasn’t, and he knew that he might have been making a serious mistake the more and more the words ran out of his mouth, but he couldn’t stop them. “I was so afraid when you got shot, and I thought, oh my god! Oh my god. I never kissed him or told him I liked him. And now I’m here doing it and it’s not—I shouldn’t be but I love you. I’m sorry.” He whimpered and rubbed at his face again.

“You’re drunk, Bucky. It happens. Let’s get you into bed, okay?” He nodded and let Steve guide him towards the bed and he closed his eyes as he climbed in. Steve tucked the covers in around him and even with his eyes closed, he knew Steve didn’t go very far—there was the noise of a chair being dragged over, and then Steve’s presence right next to him, making sure he didn’t get sick in his sleep and choke on it.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, and he felt Steve’s hand, heavy and warm and kind, on the top of his forehead. “I’m sorry, Steve. I really am.” He was falling asleep now, Steve petting the top of his head, and he had the feeling he would regret everything in the morning, but for now he couldn’t manage even that much.

It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt a kiss on his forehead when the petting stopped.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wakes up hungover.

Bucky woke up with a terrible headache and the instant realization of what he had said. He slammed his eyes back shut and tried to pretend that he hadn’t woke up at all, but it was no use. Steve had been sitting there, keeping watch over him, and he knew the second Bucky woke up. “How’s your head feeling?” he asked, and he rolled over to look at Steve, groaning.

“It hurts. How are you perfectly alright? You drank more than I did.”

“I had a little bit of a buzz, but it went away after twenty minutes.”

If he didn’t feel so terrible, he might have slapped Steve. Instead, he groaned at the light and shut his eyes. “I hate you,” he said, and Steve laughed.

“Hey, Bucky?” He cracked an eye open to look at Steve. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” It wasn’t a real question—presumably, Steve was asking about the confession Bucky had made the night before, and the fact that Steve had been sober enough to know, sober enough to remember, made a pit form in Bucky’s stomach. He didn’t answer, and he heard Steve’s chair move. “Sorry. Maybe it’s not the best time.”

He reached out and grabbed the end of Steve’s sleeve, holding him in place. “Where’s everybody else?” he asked, and Steve looked around.

“Out for breakfast. They wanted to wake you up but I thought you might need the sleep.”

“Then come down here.”

Steve pulled the chair closer and sat down, hunching over closer to Bucky. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ll understand. You were—drunk. It. Happens.” He was giving Bucky a way out—again. He had always kept the doors open, it seemed, if Bucky didn’t want to go through or couldn’t go through with something. Bucky shook his head. “I’m not going to think differently of you.” He shook his head again, and his fingers tightened on Steve’s sleeve.

“What are you going to say if I said I meant it? Even if I was drunk?”

“I’d keep it between the two of us,” Steve answered. It wasn’t really what Bucky wanted to hear, but it didn’t matter. It was probably better, even, because at least he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t tell anybody. It seemed like, for however honest he was, Steve was damn good at keeping secrets from people. “You’re upset,” Steve said, and Bucky shrugged, rolling away from Steve and onto his back. “Bucky—”

“It’s not like I thought anything would come out of it,” he said. “Except maybe getting discharged, if anyone else knew. It’s just. You’re you. I guess I couldn’t help it. Maybe you should get out of here.”

It always felt like there were things Steve wanted to say, but he never got them out. Following Bucky’s instructions, he stood up. “We’re going back to camp in a few hours. You should probably get breakfast,” he said. There was sadness in his voice, and Bucky couldn’t stand it. He watched Steve walk away and felt like punching himself in the face. He couldn’t have kept his big mouth shut, and he didn’t know how to take the windows that Steve ever gave him to get out of any of these situations.

So he got up and got dressed, and by the time he was done, Toro had come back to the barracks. “Breakfast is pretty much over,” he said, pushing a muffin into Bucky’s hands. “It’s not a lot, but it’s still something. I’ve never seen so many guys look so miserable. ‘Least you had Rogers looking out for you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, staring at the muffin. “‘Least I had him.” If Toro noticed anything about Bucky’s demeanor, he didn’t say anything. That was the thing—at least he knew how to shut up sometimes. Bucky, on the other hand? “Hey, Toro,” he started, and Toro looked at him with raised eyebrows and an inquisitive look. “If you had someone you liked, but you knew you couldn’t do anything about it, would you want them to know?”

Toro thought about it for a moment. “Well, look at where we are, Bucky,” he said finally, spreading his arms out. “We could die at any moment, right? And I don’t want to live with any regrets, or die knowing that there was something I could have said to someone and I didn’t let them know. Yeah. I think I’d want them to know, even if I couldn’t act on it.” He grinned at Bucky and nudged him. “Why, you got a thing for Agent Carter?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s not enough information for me to start rumors with.”

Bucky laughed. “Good, because it’s all you’re getting, anyways.”

“I get you drunk, and this is how you get me back? I’m wounded, Buck. Sincerely.”

“You’re not the one who got me drunk. Steve is who we can thank for that.” But mentioning Steve seemed to bring down the spirits he had just raised up, and Toro noticed, this time. It took a second for him to put everything together, but once he did, he looked Bucky up and down with a sad look on his face and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You know, Bucky. It’s not all bad.” There might have been more to say, something more personal or heartfelt, but by the time Toro could have said it, they were within earshot of all of the other troops, getting ready to go back to the fight. “Just—you’ve got this thing where you don’t look with your eyes, you know?”

He was about to ask what he meant, but Toro was pulled away by the men in his company, and he ran off, laughing and waving at Bucky. He took a first step towards Toro, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Private Barnes.” Agent Carter. He turned and saluted, and she waited for him to put his hand down before saying anything. “We have something for you.”

“Me?”

“It’s—a very sensitive assignment.” She made a motion with her head that indicated he should follow her, and he did. “We can’t send Captain America out on it. They know who he is and we can’t risk it.” Right. He nodded his head and kept it turned towards her. “I hate giving you the assignment before we even get back to camp, but it can’t be helped. We just received the intel and if we don’t send someone soon…”

“I understand,” he said.

“We wouldn’t ask you if we didn’t think you were the right person,” she said. “But—” she sighed and looked at him and furrowed her brow. “We’ll get you outfitted and send you out. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

Something about her tone of voice, about the apologies, said that this might be his last assignment. She was worried about him, scared for him, and he tried to tell himself that it would be okay, even though he knew instinctively that it wouldn’t be. Maybe it was just as well. He scanned the crowd to see if Steve was around, but he couldn’t see him, and he slumped his shoulders down. That was probably for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It appears that this chapter was posted twice and I'm not entirely sure why, but I think I've fixed it. Thanks to the person who pointed it out; I probably wouldn't have even noticed otherwise!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had been, initially, a plan.

It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t have a strategy. He did—at one point, it was well-thought out and he and the Commandos knew what they were doing and who would be where when, and they had all huddled behind a wall of dirt over a map so that they understood exactly what they were all supposed to get done. The plan had been to infiltrate the base and release the prisoners there, and the more Bucky thought about it, the better it seemed that Steve hadn’t been assigned to the mission, because he would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Furthermore, the base was crawling with hostiles, and Steve would have been a grand prize to catch. Bucky and the Commandos, on the other hand? Well.

They weren’t useless, but they weren’t nearly as important as Captain America.

So they had had a plan and it had been a good one. At least, it would have been a good one if the enemy hadn’t gotten the drop on them. They were devastatingly outnumbered, and the plan was forgotten. Better fight and do what they could than give up. He threw a punch that felt more like he was breaking his own fist than the other guy’s face, but there was a flood of red blood and he punched again. He himself had been almost knocked out with a right hook to his face, but he ducked down soon enough to avoid it. The entire operation was a bust and there was no chance of being able to make it out.

He didn’t care.

Once he got far enough away to shoot, he did, and he did it until he was grabbed from behind, tackled onto the ground. The gun was wrestled away from him, and he tried punch and kick to get away, but everything that Steve had taught him about hand-to-hand seemed like it went out the window.

“Get off me!” He wiggled an arm free and hit the man in the temple. He thought, then, that he might be able to get away, but before the thought was finished, a fist knocked against his jaw. The hits kept coming, and he didn’t think they would ever stop—that this guy would punch him until he was dead. And then—they did. The hostile was pulled off of Bucky and another pair of hands reached to lift him to his feet, and he tried his best to fight them off but he couldn’t see—eyes swollen from the battering—and besides that, he didn’t have the energy anymore.

In his reduced vision field, he saw that the other Commandos had been captured and that they were all being marched towards the base. He struggled again, then, tried turning in his captor’s arms, and received a hard slap to the cheek. “You’re more use alive, but do not think we will not kill you if we have to,” the captor said, voice low and heavy with a thick German accent.

Fine, then. He’d stay alive.

——

“Steve?” Peggy opened the flap of the tent without waiting for an answer. Steve was sitting on the floor doing sit-ups, and she supposed it was something to keep his mind off of…everything. “I know you’re upset that we sent him without you, but we didn’t…we couldn’t risk having you captured.”

He sat up straight and looked at her, a furrow in his brown and a frown on his face. “But it’s okay if he gets captured?” he asked before shaking his head. “No, listen, I get it. I don’t want to snap at you. What’s up?”

She swallowed and licked her lips before pursing them, staring at the ground away from Steve. There were exact words she had been given, a specific way in which to share the information, but they were impersonal at best. “We—haven’t heard back from Private Barnes in some time, now.” Her breath caught in her throat. “We—we have reason to believe that he has been captured.” She looked at him. “I’m so, so sorry, Steve. We’ve been trying to reestablish connection, but we can’t get through.”

There were different things flashing across Steve’s face, and she couldn’t read a single one of them. Surely, there was anger, and maybe fear, but—she swallowed again and watched him stand up. “I’m going to find him, then,” Steve said, and she took in a sharp inhalation.

“I’m not entirely sure I’m allowed to let you do that, Captain.”

“I don’t care if I’m allowed to. Say I wouldn’t let you stop me. I won’t. I’m going to find him.” He had already started to pull out the Captain America uniform, and he was right. She couldn’t stop him, even if she wanted to. This felt like her fault; she was the one who gave Bucky the assignment, even if it had been her job, and she had an idea that he might get captured.

“At least let me help,” she said, finally, and he looked at her. “I have coordinates I can give you, and I can prevent the main office from finding out that you’ve left. I’ll tell them I sent you out on a recovery mission. Steve.”

He paused for a second and looked at her, and this time, it was clear—he was afraid, more afraid than she had ever seen him before. “I got him into this,” he said.

“No more than I did.”

“I need to get him back.”

“Then let me do my part to help you.”

“It will take time—”

“Less time than it would take for you to try looking all over on your own. C’mon.” She turned and started out of the tent, but he wasn’t following. “Steve?”

He stared at the ground. “What if I can’t get there in time?”

She frowned. “You’re Captain America,” she said. “If there’s anybody who can help, it’ll be you. Now let’s get a move on.” With that, he moved, kept pace with her on the way to her tent. “This should be fairly routine for you,” she said briskly, and with her talking, nobody else would dare try to stop them so they could talk to Captain America. “Retrieval. We’re not going to give you a team, but I doubt that will be a problem. You have two days to carry the assignment out; if you fail at that, we’ll have to send a party, and I’m sure you understand the dangers that might present.” They got to the tent and she went in alone. When she came back out, she held a manila file folder in front of him. He took it, and she gave him a firm smile. “We’re counting on you. You know what to do with this when you’ve got it memorized.” He saluted, and she saluted back. “Good luck, Captain.”

“Thanks, Agent Carter.”

She watched him walk away and wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn’t often that she was nervous—not now, anyways, after everything that had happened—but a chill went over her and with it a kind of fear of consequences. She hoped they would both make it back.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds Bucky.

When Bucky woke up on the table again, he thought the voice he heard belonged to the scientists. For the past—however long, because after a while, he had lost track of time and he had never been good at keeping it to begin with—he had had needles shoved into his arms and had been wired to a million different machines. He didn’t know what they wanted. They kept him alive, but it felt like that was a formality, that his heart needed to keep beating for whatever tests they were running to work.

He kept his eyes shut until the voice got closer, until there were hands on his shoulders gently shaking him. “Bucky? Bucky? C’mon, please—” He opened them, then, let his breath catch in the back of his throat, and he smiled despite the way his lips split when he did.

“Steve?”

“Oh, God, Bucky—”

“Steve—” As glad as he was to see him—to feel him, to know that this was real, that it wasn’t manufactured or a kind of dream—Steve’s hugs were tight and Bucky was bruised and his ribs hurt. “Steve, you’ve got-you’ve got to let go of me.”

He could feel Steve frown against his neck. “I don’t want to—”

“No, I mean. You have to. I think my ribs are broken.” And Steve let go as if struck with a hot iron, and Bucky tried not to laugh. “It’s okay. I’m glad it’s you. Oh, God, I’m so glad you’re here.” Steve didn’t ask immediately what had been going on, but instead set about detaching Bucky from the machines.

“You couldn’t have said ‘goodbye’ before you left?” he asked, joking, but there wasn’t the same punch to it that there might have been any other time. “Jesus Christ. Bucky—I’m.” He paused and looked at Bucky. “I’m sorry.”

“Why do I feel like we’re constantly apologizing to each other?” As soon as Steve had the restraints on him completely undone, Bucky swung his legs off the gurney. He regretted it almost immediately with his knees going out and him needing to grab for Steve to regain his balance. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, and Steve looked him up and down with his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Of course I’m here. I should have—I should have made you sit and talk to me, because there’s something I have to tell you.”

He didn’t have the chance to say anything; the enemy had found them, and they were cornered in the lab. “Give me a gun,” Bucky said, and he didn’t wait for Steve to hand it to him. He took it from the holster at Steve’s waist and fired. Everything else happened too fast for him to really understand it; a part of him was still under the haze of the tests, and another was too tired to pay full attention. He kept shooting—the one thing he could do with absolute certainty—and Steve pushed their way out with the shield. There wasn’t enough maneuver room for Steve to carry him, at least, not while still being able to fully use the shield to protect the both of them, and the arm that held Bucky close to Steve’s body while they ran hurt. After a certain point, he gave up shooting because he had to. He couldn’t keep up with Steve and had to swing both arms around Steve’s shoulders to have even a hope of keeping his feet off the ground so they would drag him behind.

They reconvened with the Commandos and other prisoners. Steve had found them first and freed them, and while he was off finding Bucky, they were securing the base. “We’re bringing it down,” he said, and Bucky looked at him, confused. The others didn’t hesitate. Perhaps they had discussed this all beforehand, and now that Steve had him, they could do it. “Is everybody ready?”

“As ready as we could ever be.”

“Good.” It seemed, then, that everybody was in the clear. The Commandos and prisoners were able to get out of the building, and Steve waited behind to make sure there wasn’t anybody else left. Bucky stayed with him, because he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. “You should go on ahead,” Steve said, voice gentle. “The sooner you’re out of here, the sooner you can get medical attention. Which you need.”

Bucky frowned. “No. This is still my mission, and I’m not leaving you behind here. I want to see this place destroyed.” Steve wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he understood—maybe he just didn’t want to argue with Bucky, not now. It didn’t matter. They would leave together. They were together. “Did they authorize you to do this?”

“I asked before I did it,” Steve answered.

“And they listened to you?”

Steve got a smile on his face, and he turned his head to look at Bucky. “Yeah, yeah, they did.” He swallowed and looked around. It had been almost half an hour, and if there was anybody else in the building, they would have come out by now. “I think we’re alright to leave.” He started to turn, but stopped in his footsteps suddenly.

“What—”

“I hear—” He shook his head. “I thought I heard something.” He stopped again, listening, and then he brought the shield up just in time to block a barrage of bullets. Steve would have told Bucky to run if it was an actual option, but at this point, it wasn’t. If he left from behind the shield, he would without a doubt be shot. “Give me the gun!” Steve shouted at him, and he handed it over without a fight.

He wished he could be more useful, wished that he could focus for more than twenty seconds, wished he understood what was happening when the shooting stopped and Steve exchanged words with the German official across from him. “Captain America,” the man said, and the way Steve’s jaw tensed indicated that they had met before. “I didn’t realize we had captured your friend.” He couldn’t see beyond the shield, and the way Steve was holding it made him think he didn’t want to try.

“Skull.” There had been a Red Skull that the scientists spoke about in hushed tones, but Bucky had never seen the man during his tests. He supposed it had to be the same man. Words were at the tip of Steve’s tongue—maybe something along the lines of telling Skull that he was about to be caught, about to regret everything, something (though all Bucky’s mind could provide were corny one-liners from comic book superheroes)—but it never made it out, interrupted by an explosion between them and Red Skull.

There were a few more rounds of shots fired before Steve grabbed Bucky and made the decision to run. Maybe Skull had ran first—Bucky at this point felt delirious. There was arguing between Steve and the Commandos (“You told us not to wait after this long,”) and Steve conceded in the end. At least, it seemed like Steve was giving in when Bucky blanked out. Steve turned just in time to see his eyes roll into the back of his head.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky wakes up safe.

The next time Bucky woke up, he was in a medical tent with Steve hovering by his side. “Am I alright?” he asked, and Steve nodded his head hesitantly. Bucky closed his eyes again. “I feel like shit.”

“I thought you were dead,” Steve whispered, and Bucky cracked an eye open to look at him. Steve looked about as bad as he felt, with dark circles under his eyes and an almost gauntness to his cheeks. “I thought I got you killed.”

Bucky rolled his head to the other side to see who else was in the tent. It seemed like it was just the two of them, and he looked back at Steve. “I’m alive,” he said, and Steve nodded his head and smiled and it broke Bucky’s heart because the second Steve smiled, he started crying, too, overwhelmed by everything. “Steve—”

“You don’t get it,” Steve said, voice cracking. He leaned down and swept Bucky into his arms and held him as tightly as he thought he could without hurting him, and Bucky reached up to return the hug. “I thought you were dead and then you were alive, but on the way back you collapsed and I didn’t—I couldn’t help you, and I was so afraid—” He pulled back and looked at Bucky. “I need to tell you something,” he said, and Bucky nodded his head.

“Alright.”

“It’s not going to be very fair of me to say it when you can’t get away from me.” Steve looked down at his hands and away from Bucky and then up at the top of the tent. “I just—I kept thinking, I wish I had said it, even though you didn’t want to talk about it, because I didn’t know if I’d get the chance and I know—I know you might have only said what you did because you were drunk, but.”

Bucky watched him with a steady eye and waited for Steve to look at him. It took a while for Steve to gather his thoughts together, to get the nerve to say exactly what he wanted to, and Bucky could feel his own stomach clenching and unclenching. “Steve, if you’ve got something to say to me—”

“You said you loved me, and I should have told you that I love you too.” Steve stared at him like he expected Bucky to run away or slap him or do something.

“Well, good.” Steve opened his mouth, ready to say something else, but Bucky stopped him by leaning up and kissing him.

(It wasn’t, precisely, the first time Bucky had ever kissed anyone, or even the first time he had kissed a man, because there were plenty of guys around when he was growing up, some who had lied about their age and didn’t want to die without even kissing someone, and it wasn’t like Bucky was going to let good opportunities like that go, but—it was, precisely, the first time he kissed anyone he really, really liked.)

They stopped when Bucky winced from a strain on his ribs, and Steve looked at him with sad eyes until he tapped the side of Steve’s face. “Don’t do that. I’m not that terrible a kisser, am I?” he asked, and Steve laughed.

“No, no, you’re not. You’re not terrible at all.”

“Good.” He couldn’t stop smiling even though his lips hurt and his face still felt sore. “Come here and kiss me again before the medic gets back.” Steve leaned in, grinning, and kissed his cheek before really kissing him.

“I’m supposed to report back to Agent Carter now that you’re awake,” Steve said, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “She’s worried sick about you. So’s your friend Toro.”

“They can’t wait?” he asked, groaning. Steve gave him a firm look, and he sighed. “Okay, okay. I get it. Can I at least go with you?”

“You’ve got to have a physical examination by the medical chief before you’re allowed to leave. You’ll be fine.” Steve himself didn’t look convinced. “Peggy—she knows. How I feel. Has known, for a while. I don’t think she’ll keep me that long. Hell, she might even come back here with me to make sure you’re alright.”

Bucky blinked at him. “Alright,” he said. Steve stood up and kissed him again. He was about to leave when Bucky stopped him. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s the Red Skull?”

Steve paused and frowned. “I don’t have all of the information,” he said, finally. “He’s bad. Close to Hitler. I met him before. I’ll ask Peggy to fill you in. She knows more than I do.” Bucky nodded his head. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Rogers.” Steve smiled again at him and he smiled back. He watched Steve’s retreating form and leaned back down on the cot. “Holy shit.” It hurt, little, to bring his arms up, but he pressed the heels of both hands against his face and ran his fingers through his hair nonetheless. He had gotten to kiss Steve, and Steve kissed him back, and he was alive, and he was okay. If he wasn’t careful, the smile he had would permanently plaster itself to his face. Even covered in bruises, he felt better than he had in months.

He would have to deal with this Red Skull guy sooner or later, but for now, he pushed it out of his mind.

“Bucky?” Toro stuck his head into the tent, and Bucky waved him over. “Holy shit. How are you?”

“Better than ever.”

“You could have fooled me.” Toro sat down where Steve had been waiting, and he stared at Bucky. “I can’t believe it.” He thought for a moment. “You know, Rogers didn’t leave your side at all?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “I’ll believe it.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begins having nightmares again.

He was allowed to leave the medical tent a couple of days after he woke up, and after that, there was time before he was sent on missions and assignments again. Most of the day consistent of physical training—wrestling with Steve in an attempt to build up any lost muscle and to review what to do in order to avoid being caught again. Bucky found he was mostly alright with the arrangement. During the day, he was fine. There were things to do and when Steve was away, he spent time with Agent Carter, who had him cleared for intelligence desk work.

The nights, on the other hand, were a different issue entirely.

He woke up from nightmares he couldn’t be calmed from and the first time Steve tried to help, Bucky struck out at him, flailed his limbs about in an attempt to get away because, for a moment, before he was entirely awake, he thought he was getting strapped back down onto the table. Steve was fine, but Bucky felt terrible—“Maybe I should try to work these out on my own, Steve,” he said.

“I don’t want you to have to do this on your own.” He didn’t say that Bucky couldn’t really hurt him—because that wasn’t true, and a well aimed fist could break even Captain America’s nose—but he put a comforting hand between Bucky’s shoulder blades and rubbed in small circles. He didn’t have to wonder about how guilty Steve felt about the situation, because it showed every single time, and Bucky tried not to get frustrated by it.

They hadn’t kissed since Bucky woke up in the medical tent, and that wasn’t something he could avoid getting frustrated about. He couldn’t really blame Steve anymore than he could blame circumstance; even if Agent Carter knew—because she did, and Steve had told her everything—it meant nothing if other, less sensitive parties found out. Besides that, they hadn’t gotten any real alone time. Even kissing in the medical tent had been risking it. The worst part was that he wasn’t sure he could exactly tell Steve that he wanted—something, anything, more than the lingering touches he had been getting. There were other things going on, things that were bigger than either of them (things like the Red Skull amassing more and more power and attempts to stamp that out, things like concentration camps that needed to be dissolved, things like the entire goddamn war itself) and how selfish would he look if all he wanted was to get a kiss?

(Maybe not just a kiss, maybe much more than a kiss, but then, Bucky was trying to keep himself to small things that might be more attainable than anything else.)

“I’ll be okay, Steve,” he said. He offered a small smile and Steve had little else he could do. “You were gone for a while. You should. Get back to sleep.”

Steve didn’t move. “You know, I’m here,” he said. He licked his bottom lip and looked towards the tent flap. Satisfied with what he saw (or maybe what he heard), he turned back towards Bucky and leaned in. “Is it okay?”

“Is—Steve, are you really asking permission to kiss me?”

“Better safe than sorry,” he answered, and Bucky laughed.

“Come here,” he said, and he put his hand on the back of Steve’s head and pulled him in for a kiss. It felt like drinking after a long drought, and apparently Steve had been waiting just as long as Bucky to kiss him again, because his kisses were greedy and he held Bucky’s head still with one strong hand while he took his fill. Steve pulled away with a bright red mouth, and Bucky tried to chase him, but Steve’s hand moved to his shoulder and held him still.

“You should sleep in my cot,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded his head.

“Yeah?”

“It might help with the nightmares,” he said. “It helped before.” He kissed Bucky’s cheek and stood up. “I can’t—we can’t. Do anything. That’s not what I’m. This isn’t an invitation for that. But. I miss sleeping next to you.”

Bucky nodded his head and stood up, followed Steve over to his cot. “It’s a shame I have to have nightmares in order to get into your bed.”

“It’s always been open to you,” Steve answered, voice soft. “Besides, you need as much sleep as you can get. I have a feeling they’re going to start sending you back out on assignments.”

“With you?”

“With me.” He waited for a beat. “If you want to; you have a choice, and don’t—don’t think you don’t.”

“You’ve always given me a choice.” Bucky moved past him and laid down on the cot, arms folded behind his head. “And I’m always going to go where you go.” For better or worse, he supposed. “Come here.” He didn’t know if it was actually more comfortable lying with Steve now, chest to chest with an arm around his waist keeping him close, sharing the same air, than it used to be, but he would argue for it regardless of the truth. He felt safe, but that wasn’t a unique thing, not with Steve around. “I can’t promise not to punch you if I wake up,” he said, and Steve laughed before pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“That’s alright. I’ll handle it.” He settled in against Steve and closed his eyes. Steve’s heart pounded loud in his chest, and even though he tried to count the number of beats, he kept losing track. He wondered where their next mission would leave them, and if the next time everyone was given R & R whether or not they’d have actual rooms in an inn or would have to take up at a barrack again. One of Steve’s hands came up and carded through his hair. “You’re thinking extremely loudly, you know,” he said, and Bucky cracked an eye open to look at him. “I don’t mind,” he continued.

Bucky yawned. “Damn right you don’t mind,” he said. He might have had a few quips ready for whatever Steve came up with next, but he ignored them. He was tired, and now, at least, it felt like he could sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stop, after a mission, on the way back to camp.

The next time Bucky was allowed on an assignment, he was placed in a sniper’s nest, rifle in hand. He liked it—as much as he enjoyed being within the immediate action, there was a weird comfort removal gave him, especially when he was still doing something. With his eye in the scope, he took a deep breath and counted, letting it out in an even measure until he reached one from ten. He was steady. His finger pulled the trigger and he got the other guy before they got Steve.

It wasn’t, necessarily, that he enjoyed this, but it was so significantly better than being at the camp doing what felt like nothing. Here? He could at least prevent his friends from getting shot at. He ducked back down and hid, waiting for the all-clear signal in his mirror. It came not much long after his last shot, with Steve and the other Commandos capturing the building and Captain America waving at him.

(Most of the assignments he had been on lately ended like this—him removed, for the most part, from the battle, and left to sit with a bird’s eye view of the entire playing field until confirmation that the objective had been achieved. He didn’t know how much of that was Agent Carter and her guilt for sending him directly into the fray or if it was Steve’s demands that he be kept as far away from fists as possible, but it was, without a doubt, intentional.)

They reconvened back in the middle, with more troops arriving to ensure that the building remained secured, and Steve put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You look tired,” he said, like he was really anybody to be talking, and Bucky shrugged.

“I’m alright.”

Steve gave him a look. “We have a day off tomorrow. There’s an inn we’re stopping at tonight—if you wanted to grab a drink to wind down—”

Bucky laughed. “We both know that I’m a bad drinker,” he answered. “But I don’t know. Maybe sleeping in an actual bed will make all the difference.” He smiled at Steve, and then at the Commandos as they came around. Dugan clapped his shoulder.

“Thanks for getting that sniper, Barnes. Would have been dead meat. Never even saw it.”

At least he was good at what he did.

It was a long walk to the nearest town, but they made it by just after sunset. When they did, they were met by other men. Toro already had an arm around a girl’s waist, and when he saw Bucky, he waved him over. It was hard not to return the smile Toro had on his face, and even harder not to let him order a pint.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, “It’s not on my tab. But don’t tell anybody that.” Bucky raised the glass in acknowledgement. “So, where have you been?”

“Spending quality time with my rifle and Captain America,” he answered, and Toro groaned.

“You don’t ever give me enough information.”

“Like I’m going to tell a gossip like you anything important!” They both laughed, and Toro tilted his head towards the girl next to him.

“This is Greta.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bucky.”

Toro looked at Greta. “Bucky’s the best friend a guy could have, even if he doesn’t tell anybody anything. I’d say I’m his best friend, but I think that might be Corporal Rogers. Or Captain America.”

Greta looked at Bucky and smiled. “You know Captain America?” she asked, and Bucky shrugged.

“We work together sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“Really? I heard you saved the guy’s life.” Steve had arrived and sat down beside Bucky with a couple of bottles of beer in hand. Bucky’s face went red and he stared down at the table. “Hi Toro, and—?”

“Greta.” She offered her hand forward to shake Steve’s. “You saved Captain America? That’s amazing!”

Bucky was about to protest, but Steve spoke before he could get a word out. “He did. It is.” His eyes were focused on Bucky with a kind of fondness that Toro didn’t miss, and Greta watched him, waiting for more of the story.

“It was nothing,” he said. He glanced at Steve before looking back at Greta. “I’m sure if it had been me, he would have done the same.”

“I’d say it was something, but I think if I go on anymore, Bucky’s going to slug me,” Steve said, and Toro nodded his head. “How’ve you been, Toro? It’s been awhile since the last time we talked.”

He shrugged and smiled. “Well, I haven’t been shot yet, which makes at least one of us,” he said, and he turned to wink at Greta, who smiled at him. A song started and carried over the heads of everybody else in the room, and Toro nudged her. “Wanna dance?” he asked, and she nodded, taking his hand and following him to the floor.

When he watched them leave, Bucky felt a strange sense of jealousy, and Steve nudged his shoulder. “Did you want to dance?” he asked in a low voice, and Bucky shrugged before taking a small sip of his beer.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really gotten the chance to. I don’t think I’d be any good, anyways.” He looked at Steve and raised an eyebrow. “What, did you want to?”

“I mean, it’s a good song. I can’t imagine not wanting to dance sometimes, especially with an attractive partner.” They both turned to look at their drinks. It wasn’t really as though they would have been able to dance with each other anyways. And then Steve turned his head and looked at Bucky. “You know, I have a room upstairs reserved.”

Bucky tilted his head. “You do?”

“There are two beds, and if you were so exhausted, I’m sure everybody would understand your going to bed early. And as for me, nobody’s really going to be looking around for Corporal Rogers anytime soon.” He met Bucky’s gaze and let his eyes flick down towards Bucky’s mouth for a split second before returning up. “I wonder if we could hear the music from up there. It seems like it will be loud enough.”

“You think so?”

Steve nodded his head. “I think so.” He waited a second before letting his voice raise a little louder. “Jesus, Bucky. When was the last time you got any sleep?”

And like that, there was an excuse to leave the mass of people and retreat to themselves. There was a lock on the door, and Bucky reached to latch it before pressing up against Steve. The music was faint, but it carried well enough to make out what kind of song it was. “I’ve never really danced with anybody before,” he said, and Steve smiled at him.

“Neither have I, if I’m telling the truth,” he answered. “We’ll feel it out.” He brought his hands to Bucky’s waist and Bucky reached to rest his own on Steve’s shoulders.

“It can’t be that difficult, can it?” he asked.

“Nah.”

They still had no idea what they were doing, and moved in tight, slow circles while pressed close against each other. “I don’t think we’re very good dancers,” Bucky whispered, and Steve looked at him and smiled.

“That’s okay,” he said, and he kissed Bucky, slow and languid like the music coming from below them. Bucky leaned into it, letting his hands slide down so he could fist them in the front of Steve’s uniform top.

He wasn’t sure how long they had spent standing there and kissing, but after a certain amount of time, he was eager for more. Well—he had always been eager for more, if he was going to be honest, but there was something satisfying about just kissing Steve alone, about the way one of those strong arms remained wrapped around his waist and the other came up to hug Bucky’s shoulders. “You need a shave,” he said against Steve’s mouth, laughing, and Steve rubbed his face—with prickly short blond beard hairs and all—against Bucky’s cheek in response.

“I’ve been a little busy. Think you can forgive me?”

“Oh, man, I don’t know, Steve. I would have thought you of all people would have found time to shave in the middle of a goddamn war—” Steve kissed him again, hard, and Bucky kissed just as fiercely back. “Christ, Steve, if you want to take me or anything—”

“What if I do?” he asked, and he stared at Bucky, waiting for an answer.

“What if you do?”

He nodded, loosening his grip on Bucky slightly. “Yeah. What if. What if I do?”

Bucky swallowed. “I’m not stopping you,” he said. He leaned in, suddenly feeling hesitant, and he pressed a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth before turning away and taking a seat at the foot of the nearest bed. When Steve didn’t immediately follow, he frowned. “Well, Rogers? Are we going to do this or not?”

And then he was in Steve’s arms before he knew it, being kissed and pushed against the mattress of the small, ancient bed, and the springs were creaking and the music downstairs had switched to a fast, rapid dance tune and the people downstairs were shouting and laughing and none of them would be able to hear just how high his voice went, and none of them would have any idea what was happening in that small room and Bucky had never felt more sure of something before in his life.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

“I didn’t realize this place had a bathroom,” Bucky said, leaning against the doorframe. Steve looked at him in the mirror, hand stopping with his razor right under his chin.

“It’s really not a bathroom,” he answered. He wasn’t wrong—there was a toilet and a sink and a mirror—but there wasn’t anything close to a bathtub, and Bucky supposed that wasn’t anything either of them could fix. He put the razor down on the edge of the sink and turned to look at Bucky. “Are you alright?”

Bucky shouldered his way into the bathroom so he could look in the mirror. “You didn’t have to leave so many hickeys on me,” he said, reaching up to touch one on the side of his neck. A light pink tint came to the top of Steve’s cheeks, and Bucky bit his bottom lip and smiled. “I think I’m fine, Steve.” He turned so he was facing Steve, and he looked at the shaving cream that was left on his face. “You’re really shaving? I was just giving you shit about that.”

“Your thighs were red. I felt bad.” Steve looked away, and Bucky laughed.

“Maybe I liked it,” he said. “Are you done shaving?”

“Just about.”

“Then get that shit off your face so I can kiss you.” He pushed past Steve again and went to sit back down on the edge of the bed.

He felt giddy and a little drunk, and it was just early enough in the morning that they didn’t have to fall in yet and get back to marching back to camp, and it was just early enough that they still had some time to themselves. If he was being honest with anybody, he would have said that he could get used to this. Steve had already been up and shaving when Bucky opened his eyes, but the side of the bed still felt impossibly warm and it smelled as much like Steve as it could have. It wasn’t very often that he thought about life after the war—if ever, really—but he wondered if maybe this could carry on.

(He wouldn’t mind if it did, even.)

Steve came back with a clean, damp face, and he pressed Bucky backwards so he could kiss him. “Did you need to use the bathroom? Is that why you pushed past me?” he asked in a low voice, mouth against Bucky’s neck and his breath tickling the skin there. Bucky laughed swatted at Steve’s back.

“Maybe! Maybe I need to go right now!” Steve pulled away immediately.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” It was a sincere apology and Bucky groaned.

“I don’t have to go, Steve. It was a joke.” He leaned up and kissed Steve again before he could complain, and he moved to stand. “I think everybody else will be up soon. We should probably start to get ready to leave.”

“I think you’re probably right.” There was a heaviness in Steve’s voice as he agreed with Bucky, and he stepped away so he could reach back for his uniform top. Somewhere along the line, maybe before he had started shaving, he had already started getting dressed. Bucky thought, for a moment, that maybe the pants hadn’t gone away at all—but then he thought about it a little longer and even though his face started to turn red, he knew that they were definitely missing at some point during the previous night.

He hummed for a moment before he started rooting around for his own clothes. “These are going to be wrinkled as hell. What did you do to my clothes? I swear, they weren’t this bad before—”

“I think you need to be a little quieter,” Steve said, voice soft. He looked like he was straining to hear something. “People are starting to wake up.” His top was already back in place while Bucky was still struggling to find one of his socks. “Under the covers,” he said, and Bucky looked at him and scowled before reaching to pull it out. “Do you think Toro made it with that girl?” he asked, and something told Bucky that it was conversation meant to normalize whatever was happening to whoever might have been walking by the room.

He shrugged nonetheless. “Maybe. He can talk real nice sometimes.” He winked at Steve and pulled his socks on. “And if he did, I’m sure she liked it an awful lot.” It wasn’t really about Toro or the girl, Greta, anymore, not with the way he was looking at Steve.

“You think?”

“Sure. You ever see any of the letters girls from his hometown sent him?” He stood up and pulled his pants on. “Who knows. Could be that he’s better than any of us with girls.”

Steve laughed and stepped forward to help Bucky button up his shirt. “Yeah? Even better than Captain America?”

Bucky frowned and leaned in close. “You shit,” he said, voice soft enough that only Steve would be able to hear him. “Better than Captain America? Yeah fucking right.” He kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Except if Captain America ever tried it, I’d raise so much hell he’d wish he never seen me,” he whispered again.

Steve smiled and kissed him, deep. “I’ll be sure to let him know,” he said.

A second later, there was a knock at the door. “We’re heading out in fifteen minutes,” the voice said from the other side. “Be downstairs and ready to go then.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the worry in Steve's gut, they go on the mission anyways.

“Yeah? I’m actually going out with you?”

“I made a request that you come with me on this mission, yeah,” Steve answered Bucky before rubbing his hand over the back of his neck out of a kind of anxiety. “I’m worried about it, though. I don’t like what I’ve heard about it.” They were back at camp now, though they’d be leaving for the mission within a few hours. “You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I’m not going to make you follow me.”

Bucky laughed. “Like you’re making me do anything. Yeah, I’m coming with. It’ll be fine, even if I have to pull your ass out of danger.” He smiled at Steve and Steve smiled back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, shit, Steve. What is it?”

“I told you, I’m worried about it.”

“You worry about a lot of things. This is different.” He stared at Steve, who shrugged and shook his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing. I just have a bad feeling about this.” He looked at Bucky and smiled. “I don’t know, Buck. Like I said, it’s probably nothing.”

Steve’s worry was getting to Bucky, though, and he had started to rethink the entire thing just before getting to the briefing. Maybe it was nothing—but given Steve’s instincts? Probably not. A ball was starting to form in his gut while they were outfitted and he remembered Steve’s promise that he didn’t have to go if he didn’t want to. It was ridiculous; he’d never take him up on it, anyways. Nobody wants to be in a war, but he was there, and it was something Steve asked him to do. No real point in backing out now, not while they sat in the back of transport vehicle with a few other men on their way to battle.

He nudged Steve with his shoulder and looked at him. “It’s the Red Skull, isn’t it. That’s what’s getting you worried.” His voice was low enough that none of the others could hear him, and it was for the better that way. They didn’t need to know that Captain America was worried about this mission.

It took a moment, but Steve nodded his head. “Yeah. I think that’s it.”

“You think he’s going to be there?”

“Or something like that.”

Or something like that. Steve wasn’t afraid, not necessarily, but he was worried, and that should have been the first red flag. But it didn’t—it didn’t raise any alarms for any of them, not even Peggy during the briefing, and not even Steve himself. Steve’s instincts hadn’t been wrong enough times that the worry should have been ignored—on the contrary, he was always right about this kind of thing. At the same time, from what intelligence told them, this mission was important. They needed to go. He’d suck it up and they would do what they always did and they would come back in one piece.

The second red flag would have been missing the drop-off point by almost a mile, but that was accounted to human error and an imprecise map. The coordinates themselves had been wrong, though that wasn’t something anybody would notice until much later. They would make do with what they had, and Steve lead them forwards, believing just as much as anyone else that it was a simple, reversible error. The worry was still building in his gut, even as he lead the men, but he figured it was something he should ignore.

“This is the steepest mountainside I think we’ve ever been on,” Bucky remarked, and it almost seemed like he was about to make a joke—but when Steve turned to look at him, he was serious. That same worry that was bothering Steve had made itself at home in Bucky, and something was wrong. They weren’t supposed to be anywhere near here and Bucky knew it just as well as Steve. The drop-off was supposed to have taken them over this part, was supposed to have kept them less vulnerable—and they were sitting ducks. Bucky had realized it a millisecond before Steve, had heard the movement of men in trees above them, and lifted the arm holding the shield so he could get under it.

It was the steepest mountainside, and it was a trap. Steve started barking orders, trying to salvage what the mission was supposed to have been. Ultimately, he’d get it together, and they’d manage to make it out of there, but—

A German was shouting for someone to get Captain America, and Steve was paying more attention to making sure his men were safe than to himself. Things got confusing and Bucky heard the German, heard the words and could only make out part of it, not enough of it, and not quickly enough to be able to translate any of it and let Steve know. He worked on instinct, as they all had so many times before, and while he didn’t think it was a good idea, he also wasn’t really thinking at all, either. His footing wasn’t strong enough, the ledge was too thin and he was separated from Steve far enough that he couldn’t reach him.

He could hear himself shouting for Cap, careful even without thinking to prevent revealing who Steve was, and he saw Steve turn to look at him, saw his eyes behind the goggles turn to saucers and Steve’s mouth contort into a horrible shape and for a moment, he thought that he had been shot—that Steve felt a bullet go through him and was dying, and Bucky started to make a run for him. Steve was shouting now, for him, running towards him, and then—

He was gone. He was falling off the side and Steve had seen that he was slipping, must have, and Steve was trying to jump after him. He watched men hold Steve back—Captain America, who jumped from planes without parachutes, kept from leaping after his partner by five other men who must not have realized, or maybe did, that falling from that ledge was a death sentence. Bucky was afraid and he saw Steve struggling and he didn’t want to die. He closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will in all likelihood be the epilogue.


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it feels like he's home.

“Bucky?”

It has been years since Bucky has been himself and even now, he’s not—he’s not really sure he can even make the claim that is, not really, because there are nightmares and then there are nightmares and half the time, he’s convinced he’s back in cryostasis. It makes no damn sense and even with the meticulous records that HYDRA kept of everything, he can’t understand most of it.

It has been years since Bucky has been himself but he is coping and trying to make sense of everything and the awakening of memories that he had forgotten and Steve is there. They’re young and it is the future and he is waking up.

(He supposes that at one point he must have considered a life with Steve after the war, though if he had, it wouldn’t have been anything like this.)

“Bucky, you still with me?” It takes a second to realize that Steve was talking, saying his name, and Bucky turns his head to look at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I just…” Got lost.

“It’s alright,” Steve says. “I was just asking if you wanted to get dinner soon.”

(He shot Steve, was going to kill him, had killed people who probably hadn’t deserved it, and he can’t—there’s so much that he can’t stop thinking about but—)

“Yeah. I think.” He has trouble determining, still, whether he’s hungry or not, just like he’s still having trouble determining whether he’s tired or in pain or a million other things. Steve could get his memories of everything back to him with a wish from the Cosmic Cube, but it didn’t fix everything and it’s taking what feels like an eternity to work though what’s left. “Hey, actually, Steve?”

He stops in his attempt to stand up and looks at Bucky, face open with the slightest hint of concern tugging at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah?”

Bucky reaches up with one hand (the flesh one, not the metal, because for all that he’s let Tony Stark fuck around with the hardware, there’s still not that much sensitivity in it) and brushes his fingers over the side of Steve’s jaw. Steve leans into the touch and turns his head so he can kiss the inside of Bucky’s wrist. “I think you should probably shave first. Didn’t catch you at it this morning.”

Steve stops for a second, his eyes going wide, and then he bursts into a laugh that shakes everything inside of Bucky. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Buck, I’m so glad you’re back,” he says, and he pulls Bucky into a kiss.

Bucky kisses back and he might have a long way to go, but this is the closest he has felt to being home in the longest time and he’s so glad to have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has taken what feels like forever to finish. I’m not entirely sure I’m going to do a sequel, but I am working on something based on that post going around about a “Sorry I was drunk and climbed into your house by mistake” AU so. There’s something there. I'm also on Tumblr where my handle is Sailorbirdie.


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